Loyal
by Zee Viate
Summary: Co-written by Laine3112. Gibbs' loyalty to an old friend has disastrous results. Father/son undertone.
1. Chapter 1

Gibbs glanced into the rear view mirror, cursed and slammed a palm against the steering wheel, then steered the car off the dirt road, down a sloping drive onto a weed-overgrown lot. In the fast-waning light of dusk, he carefully maneuvered his way around the scattered rusted-metal spikes and gears of ancient mechanical debris to come to a stop in front of a collapsed, half-standing barn. He left the car, slammed the door closed and stood beside it, hands fisted at his sides, watching as the other car pulled in and parked twenty yards away. Anthony DiNozzo, his left arm in a sling, opened the car door, exited and headed his way.

"Get off my ass and stay off my ass!" Gibbs demanded once Tony stopped to stand a few feet from him.

"If you're so sure he's clean, what's the harm in checking it out?" Tony's tone stayed calm in the face of Gibbs' rage.

"What's your gut telling you, Gibbs? I'm betting that, right now, it's screaming, wailing, yodeling like Slim Whitman on crack. Screaming so loud it gets harder every minute for you to ignore. Kinda like you've been trying to ignore me but that's not gonna work, either. Me, your gut. Sooner or later, you'll have to listen. Better sooner, Gibbs."

"Last warning, DiNozzo."

"I'm about to give you last warning, Gibbs," a hint of answering anger was in Tony's voice before he paused to calm and continue in a conciliatory tone.

"I get it, okay. He's a friend. Brothers in arms, saved your life, you're a loyal guy, it's hard to face facts. Fact number one, he tried to take me out. Obviously not an action of enough concern for you to consider worthy of investigation."

"You didn't get a look at who took the shot at you. You've just decided it was him."

"I didn't just decide it! He knew I was on to him, he has motive. You really think, for no reason, I'd just pull him out of my ass to accuse? Why? You could settle this now if you'd just look at the evidence. It's not gonna go away just because you ignore it. Ever ask yourself, why now? You don't hear a word for twelve years and, suddenly, there he is, like white on rice and you're best buds again. What excuse did he give for the sudden disappearing act, the clandestine meeting. That's where you were headed, right?"

"That what this is all about?" Gibbs asked.

"What?" Tony asked.

"The 'best buds' thing. You jealous? Like some spoiled brat acting up not getting enough attention from his dad?"

Tony's expression hardened.

"No, Gibbs. I was listening when you ordered me to butt out of your personal life and stick to business. This is all business. Started with my gut that something was off about the guy. Lots of evidence now on that disc I gave you this morning to back it up. I pulled it out of the trash can, by the way. It's in your middle desk drawer if you decide to face facts and look at it."

"You got so much evidence, why haven't you done anything but bug me with it?"

"I'm about to. I just got it all tied together last night, enough to convince even you. I wanted to give you the chance first to do it yourself. Like I said, though, last warning. Tomorrow morning, I'm taking it to Fornell."

"If it was anything, you'd already have."

"Maybe not iron-clad," Tony admitted. "But, it's there. Circumstantial, but you don't believe in serial coincidence. If it was anybody else, you'd be all over it. Believe me, Fornell will be all over it as soon as I give it to him. Whatever Granger's setting you up for, whatever favor he's about to ask you at your little meet, whatever lies he's told you, you need to step away."

"You do what you have to do," Gibbs said. "But, between me and you, this subject is closed. Done. You keep following me, I'll shoot your tires out."

"Just like that?" Tony said, "You refuse to even consider the possibility? Sight unseen, it's done? I've heard, second hand, that you've actually said I was a good agent; your best. You're gonna ignore evidence collected by your best agent?"

"Like I said, I get it. You're one loyal sonofabitch. But, there's loyal and then there's stubborn stupid. Lose the blinders! He's gonna go down, don't let him take you down with him. And, what about me, Gibbs? While Granger was off who knows where doing who knows what the last decade or so, I had your six. I may not have served under combat with you, but I've served with you under fire, for a lot longer than he did. I may not have been part of a band of brothers, but I thought, up until a few days ago, I was a friend. He saved your life? Good for him! So have I, more than once. You may owe him, but you owe me more! The absolute least you owe me is to look at the evidence before you toss me over!"

Gibbs turned on his heel to walk away but was stopped by Tony's sudden, yanking grip on his bicep. Gibbs reacted immediately, throwing back an elbow in a savage shove to DiNozzo's chest that instantly freed him from the grasp.

Gibbs didn't react at all to the cry of 'Boss!' that sounded behind him as he stalked to his car, never looking back. His phone rang as he gunned the sedan back onto the road, raising an engulfing cloud of dust. He pulled the cell from his pocket. He glanced at the display, saw that the call was from DiNozzo and left it unanswered. When the ringing stopped, he flipped the phone open to turn it off.


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs flew down the road, struggling to control his rage as the car's tires struggled for traction on the unpaved surface. The speedometer needle was quivering towards 60 when, coming out of a curve, the back end fishtailed and he braked to a stop. As the huge haze of dust settled back down to the road, his rage fell away leaving him vulnerable, torn by conflicting loyalties and assaulted by the double-edged guilt and despair that the anger had camouflaged.

DiNozzo had been right about some points in his accusations, but not all. He had had contact with Alan Granger the last dozen years. More frequently further back when they saw each other every couple of years and Gibbs would call at least once a year to check in. Until, four years ago, when he'd called and discovered the phone number he had for him had been disconnected. When he'd opened the door to find Granger on his couch, he hadn't spoken to him in almost five years.

But, just as his long estrangement from his father hadn't changed what Jack was to him, time hadn't changed the obligation he owed Alan Granger. The man had been there to help him through his darkest days after the death of his family, had saved his life in combat. Granger had sacrificed his career, risked his life and almost lost it and left Gibbs' forever in immense debt; he had become a brother to him and remained a brother no matter how much time passed without talking.

Granger knew of Tony since Gibbs had mentioned him before they'd lost contact. And, Gibbs had told Tony about Granger. Not much. Even with Tony, Gibbs still guarded his past, maintained an ever-shrinking distance. Through the years, DiNozzo had steadily inched closer, closing the separation Gibbs had always previously rigorously maintained between work and his private life. Tony had closed in to the point that he was now a big part of the small slice of himself Gibbs allotted to a personal life.

Gibbs feared Tony was right. He would be asked some unknown favor when he met up with Granger, a favor he'd been on his way to grant. But, DiNozzo was dead wrong on one point. Much as he owed Tony, he owed Granger more. Eight days ago, he'd been shocked but thrilled to find Granger in his home, no clue then that his appearance would be anything but a welcome visit from an old friend.

Gibbs had stopped that night on his way home for a 32 ounce ribeye, one big enough to be halved and shared. The preceding week had been brutal, the case's conclusion that day wrenching—they'd found both the perp and the hostage but both had ended up dead. He hadn't extended any invitation to Tony and Tony hadn't said he'd stop by.

But, Gibbs expected him to show up with a six pack and to prattle on for hours. An unwinding, shared company and a long preface to the conclusion of the night's conversation. It had become custom, a brief verbal exchange between the two of them, always instigated by Tony, that acknowledged the victims and horrors of the case they'd just closed. Over the past few years, it had become a pattern after their worst cases. Gibbs had come to consider those nights' closing words as DiNozzo's personal wakes for the dead.

Gibbs had entered his house, sack of groceries in hand, to find Alan Granger on his couch. Physically, the man had changed more than would be expected in only five years. He was grayer, which was to be expected. But, while always lean, he'd lost weight to the point his face looked sharper, almost gaunt. His health seemed fine, though, his handshake and following rough embrace were both strong. Granger explained his sudden appearance by saying he'd be flying out of D.C. to begin a new job in Iraq as security chief for a construction company. He offered no explanation for the five lost years and Gibbs didn't ask.

Gibbs had grilled the steaks over the fire and told Alan that DiNozzo would be stopping by. He thirded rather than halved the cooked meat, plating and setting Tony's share aside. He'd actually looked forward to the two gregarious men meeting, figuring they'd hit it off. They didn't. While Tony was his usual self, Alan wasn't.

DiNozzo had walked in and seen Granger there, his greeting to them a surprised "I didn't know you had company, didn't mean to interrupt."

After Gibbs introduced them, Tony had said he'd go and let them enjoy their reunion in peace. But, Gibbs insisted he stay at least long enough to eat his steak. DiNozzo's attempts to question and engage Granger were met with few words and a subtle but still evident chill. The forty-five minutes Tony stayed were strained and awkward. Gibbs bit his tongue, not calling Granger out in front of Tony. But, he grew more and more annoyed watching Granger direct that atypical rude cold towards DiNozzo. As soon as Tony was out the door, he'd asked Alan what his problem was.

Alan had apologized; said he was tired, his leg was acting up. Gibbs had noticed earlier that his limp was more pronounced than usual. He knew that, on bad days, the pain amped up. Granger's pain hurt Gibbs, triggered the guilt, a reminder that he was responsible. For the pain and the loss of the Marine career Granger had been born to and loved. Gibbs accepted the apology and let the subject drop.

Tony had begun the next morning at work asking about Alan, what he'd been up to, why he'd shown up. Gibbs had been even testier than usual about curious intrusions on his private life, shutting the line of questioning down immediately.

Two days later, Tony had come to his desk and quietly told him he needed to talk to him. When Gibbs had asked him what about, Tony had replied 'Granger'. Gibbs asked him what about Granger? Tony had replied there were some things he thought Gibbs should know, the implication being bad things.

That was the end of the conversation. Gibbs had told him he didn't want to hear it and the subject was closed. Permanently. He had avoided DiNozzo afterward, pairing him with Tim or Ziva, never giving his senior agent a chance alone with him. He didn't know why DiNozzo had taken it upon himself to , apparently, investigate Granger. But, he did know it angered him and that, given the opportunity, DiNozzo would most likely ignore the order to never bring it up again.

The next morning, he'd been about to round a corner into the interrogation hall when he heard DiNozzo's voice. He'd stopped, not ready yet to deal with him if caught one-on-one . He was halfway turned to walk back the other way when he realized what Tony was saying.

"_...my gut. I'm still trying to connect all the dots, but he's bad news, Ducky. Gibbs thinks he walks on water, he won't listen to me. About anything. The minute I brought it up, he cut me off, won't let me near him. Maybe if you-"_

"_DiNozzo!" Gibbs' roar startled both men. He stalked down the hall to Tony, leaning in to bring his face only inches from DiNozzo's._

"_I guess I wasn't clear enough earlier. The subject of my friends is closed! You're on company time, you stick to business. And, one hundred percent of the time, you butt out of my private life! Clear enough now?"_

"_Crystal." Tony said, waiting a beat looking over Gibbs' shoulder before turning on his heel and leaving. Gibbs could feel Ducky's shocked and disapproving gaze but wouldn't meet it and didn't respond to the "Jethro..." he heard as he walked away._

Following the confrontation, DiNozzo hadn't spoken a single word not absolutely necessary to the case. For the remainder of the day, Gibbs had ignored Tim and Ziva's concerned, puzzled glances and refused Ducky's attempts to discuss anything but the corpses on his tables.

Tony had been shot the next night, a Saturday. The same night he'd played in a charity event, a basketball game of Cops versus Feds. A couple of weeks earlier, after being pestered by DiNozzo for days beforehand, he'd agreed to go watch. The night he'd arrived, Alan had asked if he'd had any plans for the week. Gibbs had told him about the match, suggesting he join him. That was before the situation had deteriorated to where it stood now.

Saturday afternoon, as the basketball game's starting time approached, he'd briefly considered still going. If Tony could keep his damn mouth shut about Granger, maybe some fences could be mended over a drink after the match. Gibbs simply showing up would be a way of contradicting his harsh words without actually broaching the subject. But, if DiNozzo did bring it up, which was likely, it could make matters worse. Granger would be gone in a couple of days. He could work on making amends with Tony then.

The night he was supposed to watch Tony play ball was spent instead drinking and remember when-ning with Granger. After a supper of delivered Chinese food, Alan had produced a bottle of Maker's Mark and poured them both generous first drinks. Sipping had eventually given way to shots done in honor of past memories and acquaintances. And, his girls. Granger was granted the rare liberty of freely discussing Gibbs' wife and daughter. He had been there, been part of their lives, been Kelly's Uncle Alan. With both Shannon and Jethro only children, he was her only uncle.

The reminiscing had ended with Gibbs crashing on the couch until, just after 2:00am, he woke to banging on the front door.

_Gibbs' bolted up from the couch, the resulting stabbing pain behind his eyes a reminder of the night's alcohol intake. His first attempt to yank open the door failed because he didn't know it was locked. He turned the deadbolt and opened the door to see a disheveled McGee in his porch light._

"_You okay, Boss?" _

_Before Gibbs had fully processed McGee's question, another rang out from behind him. _

"_Everything okay?"_

_Gibbs glanced over his shoulder to Granger who stood there shirtless in unbuttoned jeans._

"_I don't know," Gibbs answered Alan then turned back to Tim. He stepped aside to allow McGee to enter then closed and locked the door behind him._

"_What?" Was Gibbs' succinct and surly request for an explanation as to why Tim was at his door in the middle of the night inquiring after his well being._

_Tim looked uncomfortably from Gibbs to Granger then back again._

"_Tony sent me. When he couldn't get a hold of you, he was worried."_

"_Why the hell was he trying to get me in the middle of the night? We're off call."_

"_I'm not really sure except he was worried. He kept it short, said it was urgent, told me to get over here and make sure you were okay. I guess he thought whoever shot him might-"_

"_Shot him?" Gibbs cut Tim off._

"_He's okay," Tim hurriedly reassured his boss. "At least, he said he was and he sounded okay. For someone who'd been shot. Said it was just a through-and-through, left arm. He called me and told me he'd been shot and couldn't reach you and to get over here and make sure you were okay. That's it, that's all I know."_

_As Tim drove with Gibbs in the front passenger seat, McGee gave a brief recounting of what he knew of the evening's events. He and Abby had been spectators at the game and, at its conclusion, had gone to the bar with a large group. They had left after an hour or so, assured by Tony he'd either catch a ride or taxi home. Tim had been asleep when Tony's call came._

_By the time they made it to Bethesda, DiNozzo was in a room, his left arm in a sling and an iv cannula inserted in the back of his right hand._

"_What the hell happened?" Gibbs asked._

"_Hey, Boss. I guess you're okay, then. Thanks, Probie."_

"_What happened?" Gibbs repeated his question._

"_After the game, which we won, by the way, by one point, thanks to a last second jump shot by yours truly, a bunch of us went out for a drink. Afterwards, I left the bar and was headed for the taxi when a fine specimen of well-endowed femininity walked by and I stopped to admire her. Just as she passed and I turned to continue my visual admiration, Bang! Good thing I'm a connoisseur of the female form or I'd probably be dead; would've caught it in the heart instead of the wing. It's not too bad. I bled some so they have to re-fill the tank. But, I should be good to go tomorrow morning, no permanent damage."_

"_You get a look at who did it? They get him?" Tim asked._

_Tony shook his head. _

"_This," DiNozzo inclined his head toward the iv stand while looking at McGee. "Is not hitting the spot. Would you go rustle me up a Coke, Probie? And maybe a Snickers or Butterfinger to go along with it?"_

_As soon as McGee was out of the room, Tony spoke._

"_Boss, it was Granger."_

_The days-long, simmering anger that had vanished once he'd heard Tony was hurt flared back to life. Gibbs fought to keep his reply calm._

"_He was with me."_

"_How do you know? Were you sitting by him all night? You weren't answering your phone. How can you be sure? He's found out I'm looking into him, he's trying to shut me up. I wanted to wait until I had more to tell you. But-"_

"_Enough!" Gibbs cut him off. Tony ignored the command and continued._

"_I told them ask if a guy with a limp was around. There was. A witness-"_

"_You know better than to plant ideas, DiNozzo! Ask if they saw a guy with a limp, they'll remember a walk as a limp. You're doing everything you can to-"_

"_He's a hit man and he tried to hit me!"_

_Unavoidably confronted, angry but not angry enough to take that anger out on DiNozzo so soon after he'd escaped death, Gibbs didn't respond. Instead, he stormed out of the room. As he rounded the corner of the corridor, he was surprised to see Granger standing at the nurse's station._

"_How is he?"_

"_What are you doing here?" Gibbs' suspicious response was without thought; instinctive, protective. Ludicrous as the accusation was, he had been accused of trying to kill Tony and he was here now; near a wounded, unarmed and vulnerable Tony._

"_Seeing how he is, how you are. I didn't get the whole story before you booked. I know you two are tight, I didn't know how bad he's hurt. Plus, you didn't drive. I thought you might need a ride home." _

_Gibbs stared a few seconds at his friend, battling the irrational qualms suddenly roiling his gut. Then he nodded and began walking toward the elevator._

_The walk to the car was silent. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Granger glanced at Gibbs then spoke._

"_So, how is he? He gonna be okay?"_

"_He'll be fine." Gibbs said. But, he wondered, will we be fine, he and Tony. He'd just left DiNozzo alone and injured to leave with, to appear to side with, the man Tony thought had tried to kill him._

"_Good news. They catch the guy who did it?"_

"_No."_

"_Any leads or suspects?"_

_Only one, Gibbs thought. But, that was impossible. _

"_No."_

Gibbs had continued to tell himself it was impossible that Granger had hurt Tony. But, as he lay on the couch trying to sleep, his thoughts betrayed him with unwelcome facts and supposition.

No matter how drunk he'd been in the past, he'd never failed to be woken by a ringing phone. The house phone was only one room away in the kitchen and his cell had been there on the coffee table within reach. Tony's voice mails were there to prove he'd called.

When he'd returned home from the hospital, Gibbs had called the cell phone from his land line and the cell had rung. He told himself that he must have been drunker than he thought. A nagging voice in the back of his head whispered another possibility-that the cell's ringer could have been silenced then turned back on again; that the kitchen phone's receiver could have been taken off the hook then replaced. When the voice tried to intrude with further conjecture, Gibbs forced it silent.

This morning, what was the first of at least two days of his ordered sick leave, Tony had stepped off the elevator into the squad room, walked to Gibbs' desk and dropped a CD case on it.

"Evidence," he'd said. "Just, please, read it and decide for yourself."

Gibbs hadn't looked up. He'd grabbed the disc, dropped it in the trashcan by his desk, stood and left for coffee, never making eye contact with DiNozzo.

Today was the last day. Granger had said that his first flight on his trip to Iraq departed Dulles at 2100 tomorrow night. Alan had left last night, saying he was to meet up with a group of fellow employees flying out together. Gibbs had been immensely relieved after he'd said his goodbye and watched his old friend drive away in the rental car that had appeared in Gibbs' driveway three days ago. That relief had shattered when he'd answered his phone at 0540 this morning. It was Alan, saying something had come up, something he couldn't get into over the phone. He'd asked Gibbs to meet him at what sounded like a dive in rural Virginia.

He'd spotted the tail early on. DiNozzo hadn't made any effort to hide it and Gibbs hadn't made any effort to shake it. Tony didn't want to follow him to the meeting, he wanted to stop it taking place. Gibbs had driven uncertainly on, struggling to decide the right course of action as Granger awaited him and Tony followed him.

Now, he sat here stopped in the middle of nowhere, torn as to which direction to take. Up until now, Gibbs had desperately hoped he could make it through this ordeal without betraying or losing either of his friends. Granger would be gone tomorrow. If Tony hadn't been so doggedly loyal to Gibbs, he could have investigated without involving Gibbs, without forcing Gibbs to choose. Sitting there now, he wished he'd told Tony that rather than shutting him out and driving him away. Told him, do what you have to do, I won't stand in your way. Just don't ask me to help you do it.

He owed Granger more than his life. If his life was all there was at stake, he'd choose being brought down with Granger rather than be party to bringing Granger down. To protect Alan, he'd lied to both Tony and himself, pretending intuition hadn't set him on edge from the beginning. Contrary to both his gut and Tony's accusation, he was still fighting admitting the possibility that Granger had tried to kill DiNozzo.

But, much as he tried to deny it, anything was possible. He couldn't run like a coward from that fact anymore. He had to face it and choose. If there was even the remotest possibility Granger had hurt Tony, there was only one choice possible.


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs turned the car around to head back the way he'd come. Only a few seconds later, he stopped again at the thought of possibly crossing paths or being within DiNozzo's view.

He didn't want to face Tony again until he'd viewed the evidence. He still clung to a faint hope it was all a misunderstanding; that whatever evidence was on that CD was faulty, that he could go to Tony and point out his mistakes, forgive him his misconceptions and get them back on track.

If the evidence was sound, he might find some excuse for his hesitance to look at it by asking DiNozzo how he would have felt if, when Chip had framed him for murder, Gibbs had been willing to seriously consider evidence against him. See if it would help Tony to understand that asking him to doubt Alan was the same thing.

As soon as the thought arose, the honest part of himself shot it down. He might get Tony to buy it, but he couldn't sell it to himself.

Had further evidence against Tony surfaced, Gibbs wouldn't have shied away from it. He would have grabbed it and studied it to find a way to discredit it; taken any opportunity for reconnaissance against the enemy. He knew, as much as it was possible to absolutely know the character of another man, that DiNozzo did not savagely murder and mutilate that woman.

Gibbs had denied, to both DiNozzo and himself, that the absolute conviction he had in Tony was lacking with Alan. When he'd returned to the squad room this morning, he'd seen the disc in his drawer and taken it out, conflicted as to whether to trash it again or watch it. He'd gone as far as to open the computer's tray to play it before he wavered once again and hid it away in his jacket pocket. It sat now in the glove box of the car.

As pissed off as DiNozzo had to be after their confrontation in the barn lot, Gibbs' words, '_do what you have to do_', could easily be seen as release from any loyalty or obligation owed to Gibbs. Even thinking Gibbs was still on his way to meet Alan and might be caught in the same snare, Tony could already be on his way to Fornell with a copy of the evidence against Granger.

If Tony beat him to it, it would make it that much harder, maybe impossible, to fix things between them. Gibbs had spent the past week choosing Alan over DiNozzo, even after he'd possibly attempted to take Tony's life. If the breach between them was to be repaired, DiNozzo had to know that Gibbs had freely chosen to view the evidence, not been forced to accept facts after the fact. Gibbs started the car and headed toward Fornell's home.

* * *

Five hours later, Gibbs pulled the sedan into the gravel parking lot of a long, low, wood building. The glowing red sign over the entrance named it 'The Lucky Buck", a pair of twelve point neon antlers rising up from the 'L' and the 'K'. It was 11:17pm, thirteen minutes prior to the re-scheduled meeting time he'd set up with Granger.

Gibbs had gone to Fornell, briefly explained the situation, then together they had read through the CD. Fornell's compassion for his friend's dilemma had tempered his elation on realizing that Granger was, almost certainly, an assassin the FBI had been tracking for 18 months. They'd had no name and no useful physical description. The look of the suspect-age, weight, hair color-changed with each hit. Only the undisguisable limp described by witnesses was consistent and connected the crimes.

Fornell had closely watched and listened as Gibbs made the call to re-schedule the meet, claiming to have earlier been unavoidably detained, in the field on a case. Jethro didn't blame Tobias for blatantly monitoring the conversation. Though he played his part perfectly, some part of himself hoped Granger would detect something off and run.

Two FBI agents masquerading as deer hunters had been nursing beers at the bar for over an hour. The agent assigned surveillance of the entrance had reported to Fornell that the target had entered five minutes ago, prompting Gibbs to drive from his holding point two miles away to the bar's parking lot. Once Granger was inside, both the front and back entrances of the bar had been covered from outside. It was only at Fornell's discretion, as a courtesy to Gibbs, that Alan wasn't yet in custody.

Back at Fornell's home, after Gibbs had made the phone call to Granger, Tobias had urged Jethro to let him take it from there, not be involved in the take down.

But, Gibbs had spent the last few days as a coward, avoiding rather than facing facts, making things worse. Now that he had taken the step, he refused to take the easy way out and hide away as what he'd set into motion played out. If Alan asked how he could betray him that way, Gibbs would repeat that same question back to him. Granger knew all that he'd lost, how little he had left and, knowing all that, had tried to kill Tony. A surge of wounded rage trumped the guilt and he yanked open the car door.

* * *

He entered the bar and walked a few steps in then stood still a moment, his gaze sweeping through the smokey haze to spot Alan at a table in the back, his back to the wall. Gibbs heard one of the two camo-clad FBI agents at the bar convincingly lamenting the ten point buck that had escaped his aim.

Alan saw him immediately, a smile of greeting on his face as Gibbs approached his table. Gibbs held eye contact as Alan's smile wavered when Jethro didn't smile back. Granger looked away to the deer hunters that left the bar to flank Gibbs on either side, and realization hit his expression. Jethro, already having difficulty maintaining an even composure, steeled himself for Alan's reaction.

Gibbs waited, as the agents drew their weapons and informed him he was under arrest, as he heard Fornell enter and call out 'Federal agents!' to calm the handful of regulars in the bar. He waited for the anger, the recrimination, the reminder of the debt he owed. But, it never came. Granger didn't struggle, only stood silently, resigned and scowling as the cuffs were ratcheted into place around his wrists.

When, right before he was led away, Alan finally did look Jethro's way, he remained silent and his expression stony. But, in his eyes, Gibbs saw pain and shame. Wounded and remorseful eyes of the man of honor he'd once been, the brother, the man he owed so much.

Fornell came to stand beside Gibbs.

"Hannigan just pulled up. He's pissed I went ahead without him. He's taking over. Come on, we'll-"

Gibbs shrugged off the hand the second it was placed on his shoulder and walked away.

"Jethro!"

Gibbs ignored his friend's call and kept walking. He was grateful Tobias knew him well enough not to follow.

* * *

He'd known it was a bad idea. He'd learned that lesson long ago; he didn't do it anymore because it didn't work. It was only a very brief and false respite that he'd come out of worse-off than before. But, even though he knew better, he still did it. The aftermath was of no consequence compared against anything that might help him endure right now.

He'd driven from the bar's parking lot to the first liquor store he came across, bought a half gallon of Jack Daniels and stopped at the next motel he saw, desperate to escape into the bottle.

He'd known it was a bad idea and that fact was in the process of being driven forcefully, painfully home now as he knelt before the toilet, his stomach already empty, but still convulsing with dry heaves. Finally, he regained control of his body and slumped back against the tub's side. His throat burned with acid, his head pounded and he was still burdened with all he'd carried before the bender.

On top of everything else, his gut was churning, twisting with a dark dread. He tried to dismiss it as just another symptom of the massive hangover rather than an omen of worse to come. He wouldn't lose Tony, he'd find a way to fix things between them.

Determined, he stood, poured one cup of water over the four-cup filter pack in the coffee maker, set it brewing then stepped into the shower.

* * *

Over an hour later, Gibbs sat parked at a gas station, a fresh cup of coffee resting on the dash. He'd spent the drive formulating approaches for when he next spoke to DiNozzo. He'd apologize, more than willing to break that rule for this friend. He'd tell Tony everything, all he owed Granger. He hoped that would be enough.

He was nearing DC. He debated whether it was best to call Tony first or just show up. He was supposed to still be out on sick leave but there was no guarantee he'd be at his apartment. There was a good chance DiNozzo already knew that Granger had gone down. Through the grapevine or, possibly, Fornell.

He hoped he did already know, that should ease Gibbs' path some if Tony knew he'd chosen the evidence, chosen Tony. Jethro was probably tying himself up into knots over nothing. DiNozzo wasn't a grudge-hugger and he could forgive Gibbs his temporary lapse in judgment. Tony understood, as he'd said, that Gibb's was a loyal son of a bitch. But, he might wonder where was Gibbs' loyalty to him when he left the hospital with the man who'd tried to kill him?

Gibbs sighed, tired of mentally wrestling the possibilities, and turned on his cell phone. Holding it at arm's length, he made out the icons on the front screen indicating waiting voice mails and texts.

He was almost certain Tony wouldn't have tried to contact him via text. It was well-known that Gibbs didn't like text messages and he didn't do text messages; if he responded to them at all it was with a call back. They annoyed him past the hard-to-read-with-older-eyes aspect. If someone had something to say to him they could just call and say it and he could respond and be done with it rather than volleying back and forth punching tiny keys.

He imagined one of the voice mails was from Vance in reaction to the '_Personal emergency. Won't be in Tuesday.'_ email he'd sent last night from Fornell's home. There would be at least one from DiNozzo, maybe more.

He put off listening and chose to first scan the texts. He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket and opened the phone to view the sender list.

He was surprised to see that the most recent message was from Ducky. Gibbs had never before received a text from Mallard. He punched the key to read it.

_There's been an accident. Tony's in Bethesda. Odds are against him surviving. Come now!_


	4. Chapter 4

When his call to Ducky went straight to voice mail, Gibbs didn't bother leaving a message. He ended the call and started to punch #4, speed dial number for McGee, then stopped.

_Odds are against him surviving._

Ducky's text had been sent almost five hours ago. Five hours of Tony's life hanging precariously in the balance, the scales weighted against him. Tony was alive, he would beat the odds again and survive. Gibbs was less than fifteen minutes from the hospital. There was no point in calling to get information he'd have first hand that soon. Good news awaited him, he told himself. Tony was not dead, he would not die. And, if the unthinkable had happened, he'd postpone facing it as long as possible.

* * *

Gibbs pushed through the revolving glass door and rushed to the lobby's information counter.

"Anthony DiNozzo. Where is he?"

"Agent Gibbs?" the woman asked.

He nodded.

"Dr. Mallard is waiting on floor two, ICU."

* * *

Ducky was there as he exited the elevator.

"Jethro, finally."

"How is he?"

"Not well, I'm afraid. Unresponsive at the moment."

"Unresponsive?" Gibbs asked but dreaded clarification. "Unconscious, coma, brain damage?"

"Unresponsive." Ducky repeated. He began walking at a fast pace, forcing Gibbs to follow to hear him.

"Although it is possible his brain could be affected by blood loss, fever, sepsis or other further complications, there was no brain injury."

He stopped just before they reached the row of curtain-separated treatment spaces. He placed a hand under Jethro's elbow, gently pushing him towards the first room.

"Talk to him."

The sense of urgency in Mallard's voice scared him.

"Say goodbye, you mean?"

Ducky hesitated before answering.

"I have not, and I will not, lose hope that Anthony will survive. But, that is not the prevailing prognosis. I strongly urge you to take the opportunity to say whatever should be said."

"He's unconscious," Gibbs said. The thought of his last contact with Tony being the clash in the barn lot was unbearable. He desperately wanted to believe he'd have another chance to speak to him and make amends. But, he was afraid his old friend, aware of the falling-out between him and Dinozzo, was only giving him false hope, a placebo to ease his conscience.

"The sense of hearing is the last to go before the end'" Ducky said, "And, it's well-documented that unresponsive patients, even comatose, can oftentimes still hear and retain the memory of words spoken to them. I can't guarantee that he'll hear anything you say but there is a very real possibility he will. Take this chance, perhaps your last, to talk to him and believe he will hear you. For both your sakes."

* * *

Gibbs entered the treatment room and stood there silent a moment, listening to the hiss and soft thump of the ventilator and staring at Tony's lifeless form, still except for the barely discernible rise and fall of his chest beneath the white sheet. He had braced himself for the sight of a battered DiNozzo and was surprised that he didn't have the bruised and swollen look typical of a serious MVA. Instead, his face and shoulders were pale, only marred by a splotchy red wash that could have been a faint rash or fever- induced blush.

A plastic chair had been crammed into the small space between the curtain and bed. He sat in the chair, and took a deep breath to steady himself before he began to speak, his gaze on the machines helping DiNozzo to breathe.

"I went to Fornell. As soon as I left you, I went straight to Fornell and looked at the CD. Alan is in custody. You were right. I'm sorry, Tony. If I'd listened to you, maybe you wouldn't have been shot, maybe you wouldn't be lying here now."

He looked down to Tony's face, irrationally hoping for some response, some sign that he heard.

"It's not that I trusted him more or didn't believe you. It's that..."

He paused, realizing, when he tried to find words to explain, that he had no excuse. The justification he'd clung to was only a stubborn, false loyalty to a debt, not a man. No justification at all for not having Tony's six, for allowing any obligation, no matter the magnitude, to blind him, to stand by as DiNozzo was shot and almost killed.

He had failed DiNozzo just as he had failed Kelly and he might lose DiNozzo as he'd lost his daughter. He gripped the bed rail fighting against grief and guilt. He couldn't justify his actions, he had no excuse. But, he could try to explain.

"We were in D.C. for the day. Me, Alan, Kelly. We were both on leave and Alan was visiting and Shannon stayed home to cook a special dinner. Kelly was three years old. You have to watch them at that age, especially when you're out in public, you have to keep an eye on them. I knew that. But, some guy started a conversation with me about the Redskins. Kelly was right next to me pulling on my pants leg, going on about Pongo. She was crazy about that movie, 101 Dalmatians, always talking about it; Cruella DeVille was a bad woman, Pongo and Perdita."

"Alan had gone to a stand to buy her an ice cream cone. I wasn't paying any attention to her, I was too busy talking football with that guy. Then, somebody screamed and I looked and I saw..." He paused, even now that devastating split-second was agony to remember and re-live.

"I saw Kelly in the road, the front bumper of a green pickup and I knew I was about to see my baby die. But, in that same second, Alan was there. Scooped her up and tried to leap out of the way. He saved her, she got out of it just losing some skin, road burn on her arm. Alan saved her but he didn't clear the truck. Both legs were broken, the right one was shattered, he almost lost it."

"Turns out some guy was walking a dalmatian across the street. If I'd bothered to pay attention to her for one damn second, I'd have known that; could have walked her across to see it or told her no or noticed when she was running out into traffic. If not for Alan, she'd have died. I'd have lost her and it would have been my fault. He gave me almost half Kelly's lifetime."

A minute of silence passed. Gibbs sat there struggling to find a way to put feelings into words. He reached through the rail to grasp Tony's hand in his.

"Don't die, Tony. I-"

"Excuse us for about twenty minutes, please?"

Startled, Jethro let go of Tony's hand and looked up to see a nurse, another nurse behind her, standing a foot from him. He nodded and stood. As he walked away, he was both sorry and relieved he'd been interrupted. There was so much more that needed to be said but he was at a loss as how to say it. He walked to the end of the row of rooms and was met by Mallard. Ducky placed a hand on his back and gently steered him towards the elevators.

"They'll be a while, changing dressings and running tests. Judging from the bourbon vapor wafting from your pores, you drank your last night's supper and could do with some food. You'll have time to get a bite to eat while they're tending to Tony."

Although Gibbs hadn't eaten in over 24 hours, he had no appetite, his stomach rebelling, roiling from both emotion and hangover. He shook his head.

"A drink and some fresh air, then," Mallard insisted.

When they stopped by the hospital cafeteria, Gibbs ignored Ducky's suggestions of Gatorade, water or juice and his disapproving scowl when he instead chose a large cup of coffee. They went outside to sit on a wooden bench across from the hospital entrance. The coffee burned going down his acid-abused throat and spiked the churning queasiness in his gut but he stubbornly continued drinking, needing the caffeine.

Now that he had seen and spoken, however incompletely, to Tony, he wanted to know the details of the accident and DiNozzo's injuries. He hoped Tony hadn't been at fault, especially if any other victims were seriously hurt or worse.

"Was anybody else hurt?" Gibbs asked.

"Anyone else?"

"In the wreck. How'd it happen? Whose fault was it?"

"Ah," Ducky understood and shook his head. "Anthony wasn't injured in a motor vehicle accident, Jethro. It was an accidental mis-step, stumble; he was injured in a fall. A rat, of all things; his fears come to pass in a different way."

"You talked to him?"

"No. Due to his remote location, there was some delay getting to him. He was conscious for a while, talking to the dispatcher. But, he was out by the time help arrived and hasn't regained consciousness since."

"He was passing through a rural area; pulled into an abandoned lot to relieve himself. A rat ran across his shoe, startling him and causing him to back-peddle and lose his footing and fall back upon some metal farm implement. It was a penetrating wound, an impalement. He suffered a rather severe tear to his kidney, but that is repairable. It was the tiny nick to his bowel that triggered the sepsis that's the threat to his life."

"Good thing there's a definitive record of what happened. My preliminary findings, based on evidence presented, would have been different. Bruise in the mid right chest, a forceful backwards fall-I'd have said it was likely he was attacked and pushed back rather than lost his footing. My suspicions prompted Timothy to contact the sheriff's department. They explained that Anthony himself had told them what happened and supplied us a copy of the 911 call. Ever the investigator, Tony went so far as to ask to be certain that the call was taped, so he wouldn't leave an unsolved mystery behind."

He smiled a small smile.

"Even under such dire circumstances, he told the tale with typical DiNozzo hyperbole and panache. The rat, he said, was the size of..."

Mallard continued speaking but Gibbs heard no more until the grip on his shoulder and Ducky's concerned and insistent "Jethro!" cut through the different voice crying out from his memory.

"_Boss..." _

The call that had barely registered in his rage as he'd stormed across the barn lot, hardly heard as just another attempt to stop him, to hold him there.

_No! _It was an instinctive silent prayer, a desperate mental plea as the possibility, the realization crushed the air from his lungs. _No, no, please, no... _

With a trembling hand, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

"Jethro, are you alright?"

Gibbs ignored Mallard's question as he pushed through the list of voice mails to the unanswered call from DiNozzo, the last call received before he'd turned off his phone. He listened to the robotic recitation of the originating number, date and time; holding himself together by clinging to a fervent but faint hope. A hope shattered when he heard Tony's recorded last words to him.

"_Boss, I'm hurt. Come back, please! I need help, Boss. Please!"_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N, 3/2/13: **To clarify, this chapter opens with Ducky's thoughts prior to Jethro's arrival at Bethesda. After the line break, it picks up where chapter four left off.

I've made edits to all the chapters of this story. The reason I made the revisions is that it's about to be completed. Once again, Laine3112 will finish what I started. She agreed to take it over quite a while ago. With her own story to complete and a very busy life, she has only recently been able to focus on Loyal. She's almost done and the final chapter/chapters will be posted soon.

I apologize for the long wait for resolution. I'm very grateful that Laine was willing to take this one on so it would finally be finished. She's an excellent writer, the best NCIS fanfic has to offer, and I'm honored to have her help. If you haven't already read Laine's work, you can find a link to her profile in my favorite authors list.

* * *

Donald Mallard sat quiet in the chair at Tony's bedside, taking a brief break from the steady chatter he'd kept up, hoping Tony would latch onto his voice, follow it as a guide out of the abyss. Interspersed frequently among encouragements and rambling tales was a re-telling of the information he'd received from Tobias Fornell last night when he'd called anyone and everyone who might possibly know Jethro's whereabouts. If only one message made it through, he hoped Anthony would know that Gibbs had chosen him over Granger.

The bedside chair had hardly been empty the last almost 24 hours. Other than Ducky, Abby had occupied it the longest and Tim had spent a good bit of time at his friend's side, as had Ziva. Leon Vance had come, but whether he'd sat or stood during his short visit was unknown. It was a small relief that Gibbs had left Vance a terse message, so he hadn't disappeared with no word whatsoever. With Gibbs AWOL and Tony out and no ongoing active cases for the team, Vance had taken the MCRT off rotation, leaving them free to keep vigil at the hospital. He'd also agreed to, if necessary, call in the back-up ME so that Ducky could stay until Jethro arrived.

Jimmy Palmer had taken a turn at Tony's side and spent most of Ducky's waiting room time with him until Mallard had insisted he, and the rest of Team Gibbs and Abby, leave to go sleep, at least for a few hours. At their protests, he'd argued that, as a physician, he was best suited to stand vigil until Jethro arrived. Left unsaid and even more important, he was best suited to break the news to Jethro and deal with the fallout.

Other than wishing Tony would wake and respond, Jethro's was the only company he'd welcome now. Ducky knew that, soon, there would be the onslaught of acquaintances and fellow law enforcement officers, both past and present. Had Anthony been wounded in the line of duty, they'd have already been here. Word of mouth was slower this time since he'd been injured in an off-duty accident.

Even so, already a dozen NCIS agents, a night crew cleaning woman and two security officers had come by to inquire as to his condition. Jethro being absent, it had fallen on Ducky to assume the lead in dealing with them. Exhausted, he was grateful to have a break from concerned visitors asking how Anthony was doing. It was getting more difficult by the hour to answer that question optimisticly.

The septicemia-triggered systemic organ distress hadn't yet evolved into any full failure; there was no damage that was absolutely irreversible. But, in spite of the infusion of powerful antibiotics, Tony's condition hadn't improved, had, in fact, worsened in minute but ominous increments of rising temperature and lowered organ function and blood pressure. His life could end suddenly at any time, without warning. Mallard fervently hoped and prayed Jethro would arrive soon, for both Anthony and Jethro's sakes.

Doctors had done all they could, medicine had no more help to offer Anthony DiNozzo. Ducky believed Jethro's presence was the only thing left that might help now. Had Tony been only a bit worse, he'd have been more worried that Jethro's appearance would amount to a final farewell. The unexplainable, but very real, phenomenon of a dying patient, through strength of will and spirit, holding death at bay; holding on for someone or some event. One more Christmas, a new birth, a last goodbye to a loved one. He feared that, if Tony's condition deteriorated much more, Jethro's presence would be release to move on rather than an incentive and anchor to hold Tony here.

But, it wasn't to that point yet. Knowing DiNozzo and his stubborn refusal to give in to odds, Mallard expected he'd stave off death longer than would seem humanly possible. But, every human body had its limits, no matter the tenacity of spirit. He didn't delude himself that Jethro could magically save Anthony. But, he did believe his presence would help, could afford the edge that-

Mallard's thought was interrupted by a nurse's voice.

"Agent Gibbs is here. He's on his way up."

Ducky murmured a heartfelt "Thank God" before leaving Tony to go to meet Jethro.

* * *

Sitting on the bench outside the hospital, Ducky stopped dead in his recitation of Tony's 911 call, startled into silence when he glanced over at his friend. Gibbs had paled to a striking degree, a pained and stunned expression on his face.

"Jethro?"

Gibbs acted as if he hadn't heard. He reached a trembling hand into his jacket pocket to pull out his cell phone.

"Jethro, are you alright?"

He didn't respond, only began punching keys on the phone then held it up to his ear to listen. Then, the hand holding the cell fell to his thigh and his features twisted in agony.

Mallard had never seen Gibbs in such a state before, the man seemed to be silently, painfully unraveling before his eyes. A spike of panic shot through the physician as he realized he could be seeing a heart attack, a stroke...He could be watching his old friend die before his eyes.

He reached for Jethro's wrist to take his pulse but the arm jerked violently away from him. Hating to leave him but knowing time was of the essence, he grabbed Jethro's shoulders to try to turn him and force him down onto the bench.

"Lie down, I'm going for help."

Instead of reclining, Gibbs wrestled away from the touch and bolted from the bench and stood there looking dazed and lost.

"I did it!"

"What?"

"Tony; he didn't trip, I pushed him. I did it!"

Trying to placate the disoriented man, keeping a grip on one shoulder with one hand while he reached with the other into his pocket for his phone to call for help, Ducky spoke.

"Tony was clear on what happened, he was alone."

Jethro shook his head.

"I was there, in the barn lot. He'd followed me, we argued. I was going to meet Alan and he grabbed my arm to stop me. I threw an elbow back to break away. He yelled for me and I kept walking and never looked back. I walked away from him lying there. He called before I even got the car started. I saw it was him and didn't answer; I turned the phone off and drove away."

Mallard froze, stunned by the confession.

Gibbs put his cell on speaker and replayed the message.

Ducky listened. This new, cruel twist to an already horrendous situation left him speechless for a moment. Then, he took the cell phone from Gibbs' hand, closed it and put it in his own pocket.

"It was an accident."

"It was me! If he dies, I killed him!"

"That's enough! Anthony made plain, to the point of asking to be sure it was recorded, so there would be no doubt as to what happened."

"He was lying. I've probably killed him but he's still covering for me."

"Even if what you say is true, the fact remains that it was an accident, unintentional. Both Anthony and I know that you'd never purposely hurt him that way. And, that you'd never have left him there if you'd known he was injured."

"He called for help, after I shoved him down and I ignored him, I left him alone with a stake through his gut!" Gibbs refused any absolution Ducky had to offer.

Ducky saw McGee approaching at a distance from the parking lot. He grabbed Gibbs by both shoulders.

"Not another word! Anthony chose what to tell the authorities. Those words could be his dying declaration, his last wish, his last message to you. You will not betray his wishes! Should he live, you're free to discuss it at length with him. But, I will not allow you to fall on your sword and ruin your life for no purpose whatsoever outside the self-indulgent, fleeting balm of confession. If it is true, you'll live with it and carry on, just as Anthony wanted."

"Timothy is here." Jethro didn't respond. Desperate to contain the situation before it got any further out of hand with McGee as witness, Ducky gave Gibbs' shoulders a shake and barked out an angry order.

"Pull yourself together! Now!"

Gibbs blinked at Ducky's harsh tone. The anguish on his friend's face sorely tempted Mallard to console him rather than stand firm. He let go of Gibbs' shoulders and turned to face McGee. He saw when Tim caught sight of Jethro, quickening his pace to a trot until he was standing beside them.

"Boss! Thank God."

Gibbs didn't respond.

"You okay?" Confronted with the sight of his unflappable boss standing there undone, concern and confusion replaced the relief on Tim's expression,

"He's hungover," Ducky said putting censure in his voice. "AWOL on a bender at the worst possible time." He shook his head. "Fine example he's set."

Tim was too good an investigator, knew Gibbs' too well, to accept that his present state was the result of only too much alcohol. Ducky was grateful he was also wise enough to, after a few seconds of silent deliberation, follow Ducky's lead and switch the subject to Tony.

"Any change?"

"No," Mallard answered. There was no need to mention Anthony's decline now in Gibbs' presence. He would live or die, his present condition wasn't relevant, only the end result.

"Abby finally located Senior," Tim said. "She wasn't able to talk to him, he's off on safari in Botswana with a rich widow and a group of investors. She left a message, they said they should be able to deliver it to him within the next couple days. Does she know you're found and here?"

"Not yet," Ducky answered for Gibbs. "I'll call her to let her know after Jethro has a little time to rehydrate and re-group. " Mallard wasn't going to let Gibbs face anyone else until he'd recovered some equilibrium. He hoped McGee would follow his lead once again and not contact Abby himself.

"You go sit with Anthony while Jethro sorts himself out. Some fluids and a bite to eat should do it. We'll be back within the hour."

Tim nodded and, with one more concerned glance at his silent boss, left them.

Ducky placed a hand on Jethro's shoulder, gave it a supportive squeeze then gently pushed to maneuver him back towards the hospital entrance.

"No more coffee until you've-"

Gibbs shook off Ducky's hand and began walking away from the hospital.

"Where are you going?" When Jethro didn't answer, Mallard hurried to catch up and moved to block his path.

"He needs you here, Jethro."

"I'm the last person he needs. I put him there!"

"A bond built over a decade isn't destroyed by one unintentional act. Anthony's actions prove that whether you choose to admit it or not. He had to know the wound might well be mortal and his last conscious choice was to forgive and protect you. You can't answer such courage and devotion by abandoning him now when he needs you most! Medicine has done all it can. Now, it's all down to him. Your presence, your voice-"

"Stop!" Jethro cut him off. "Stop with the 'talk to him, he'll hear you'! You think I don't know what you're doing? You think a lie'll help; it'll make me feel better to pretend he hears an apology before he dies?"

Even though it was directed at him, Ducky welcomed Gibbs' rage, a small step out of the dazed surrender to anguish.

"It's not a lie, it's fact! Granted, not every time, perhaps not most times. But, many times, proven many times over. The human spirit still holds mysteries without scientific explanation and even men of science recognize them. Anthony DiNozzo is a man of exceptional spirit, no doubt he's giving the battle his all. But, at the moment, he's losing. Your presence matters! Whether it gives him added strength to persevere and survive or grants him the peace to let go and move on. Much as we all care for him, it's you he needs. If you abandon him now, you're as much as leaving him to die alone!"


	6. Chapter 6

A/N:- What a treat to be handed a great story with a dynamite plot, wonderful characterisations and lots of gut-churning emotion and be asked to guide it home. Zee Viate is an excellent writer and a special friend…I feel very honoured that she has trusted me with the closure of this great story. I hope you continue to enjoy it. L

**LOYAL**

**Chapter Six**

Gibbs wheeled in his old friend's direction; his face contorted in an almost unrecognisable mask of self-loathing.

"I did this, Duck!" he replied hoarsely. "This one's on me."

"For pity's sake, it was an unfortunate accident! The fact that Anthony invented a cover story should tell you that he bears you no ill will," Ducky's expression grew bleak. "But mark my words, Jethro, if you turn your back on that boy now, when he needs you the most…you will _never _forgive yourself."

"DiNozzo covered for me cos he's a cop…he's old school. Doesn't mean he wants me around."

"Is that so?" Ducky snapped, feeling the tentative hold on his patience beginning to slip. "Name one other person Anthony would want by his side at a time like this. Hmmm?"

For a fleeting moment the former Marine relaxed the stranglehold on his stolid disposition. The despair in his eyes and his stiff posture told more eloquently than words of how deeply his role in Tony's injury had affected him. Raw emotion etched into his face as he struggled to accept the consequences of his actions. In all their years of acquaintance, Mallard had never seen Gibbs vulnerable this way, on the verge of shattering into pieces so small they could never again be reassembled.

Despite Tony's valiant attempt to absolve his boss from any blame or responsibility, Ducky knew that if the unthinkable happened and the young man died, the overwhelming burden of guilt would tear Gibbs apart, one emotional nerve-ending at a time. Conversely, if the lead agent left now, a different yet equally destructive guilt would pull him irretrievably into its depths. Ducky couldn't control life and death; he couldn't affect that outcome beyond hope and prayer; but he could do his damnedest to keep Gibbs from running.

Shaking his head sadly, he waited a few beats before placing his palm under his friend's elbow and steering the unusually compliant man back towards the bench. He had no doubt that, once the shock of the shattering revelation subsided, Jethro would do the right thing.

"Feeling guilty and being guilty is not one and the same thing," Ducky said. "You, more than anyone, should know that unrestrained guilt is both toxic and destructive. Don't do this to yourself…and please…_please_…don't do this to Anthony."

Gibbs' expression closed-down - a clear indication that he was not prepared to discuss the matter any further. But the slump of his shoulders and the droop of the man's silver head told Ducky that his words had been effective. In silent, watchful companionship he waited for the lead agent to make the next move and startled when the unfamiliar, muffled ring tone sounded from deep within the pocket of his tweed jacket. Retrieving the lead agent's cell, he held it out to its owner who, with a curt shake of his head, conveyed that he was unavailable. Fumbling with the device, Ducky found the correct button and answered the call.

"Special Agent Gibbs' phone, Doctor Mallard speaking."

The ME stilled and his voice developed a subtle edge as he responded to the voice on the other end of the line.

"I understand…no, he's here with me…yes, of course, we'll be right there." Ducky slipped the cell back into his pocket and turned to face the sharp blue eyes. "That was Timothy," he explained gravely, seeing the blood drain from his friend's face.

"Tony?" Gibbs rasped.

"I'm sorry, Jethro…it appears Anthony has taken a turn for the worse."

This time there was no debate, no hesitation, no second thought and Gibbs was half way across the lobby and heading for the elevators before he realised he was moving. As the ME rushed to keep up, his thoughts were of Tony.

'_Hold on, my boy, Gibbs is coming. Just hold on!'_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Slipping through the opening doors of the elevator, Gibbs caught sight of McGee's sombre expression as the agent walked toward him.

"The doctor's with him now, Boss," McGee started. "No-one's allowed in until…Boss?"

Gibbs didn't break stride as he walked purposefully passed his agent and entered the ICU. The younger man was left staring at the closed door as Ducky arrived and stood by his side.

"The doctor said no visitors."

The ME and placed a comforting hand on McGee's shoulder.

"In these dire circumstances, only the very foolhardy would attempt to keep Jethro from being with Anthony."

Tim turned worry-filled eyes to the older man and released a long cleansing breath.

"How could this happen, Ducky?" he asked. "Tony's dedicated his life to law enforcement and something like this…a senseless accident...a stumble, could kill him."

Ducky removed his glasses and lightly pressed his thumb and forefinger into his tired eyes as he considered his reply.

"Several years ago, I underestimated that young man's resilience and prematurely laid claim to his Mighty Mouse Stapler," Ducky said with a sad smile. "Anthony's condition is very grave indeed, Timothy, but I am not prepared to give up on him…and neither should you."

The ghost of a smile appeared fleetingly on the younger man's lips and Ducky continued.

"Whatever the gods of chance and circumstance decide, we will face this as a family…as Anthony's family."

Nodding his head in agreement, McGee stood a little straighter.

"I should call Abby and Ziva," he said.

"No, Timothy. News such as this should be conveyed in person."

"But-"

"Go to them," Ducky said. "Bring them back here if you feel you must, but deliver the news personally."

"You're right," McGee said turning to leave. He'd taken three steps before he stopped suddenly and spun back to face the ME. "You'll call if…"

"Of course, dear boy, of course."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

As Gibbs hustled down the short corridor, the sight of a flashing blue light above the door of his agent's cubicle squeezed his chest tightly. For one awful moment, everything stood still and then time resumed its normal order as medical staff rushed in and out of Tony's room with professional haste. Gibbs moved to the door, his gaze intent on Tony's lax form that was alternately hidden and revealed by the medical dance surrounding him.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked curtly.

The tremor in his voice was unnatural and he despised it. The two nurses glanced briefly in his direction but didn't answer, taken aback by his brusque attitude.

"I gave orders that all visitors were to wait in the lounge area," the doctor told him, his attention split between the readout on the ventilator and adjusting the flow rate of one of Tony's IVs.

Gibbs answered the man with a look that made it clear that he wasn't leaving anytime soon. With a sigh of resignation the doctor continued.

"Stay out of the way. We need to get him stabilised."

"You said he _was _stable," Gibbs accused.

"Jethro, please," Ducky censored from the doorway. "Let them work."

Doctor Lawson nodded his thanks in Ducky's direction before continuing to dispense orders to the nursing staff. The medical-speak was going over his head but Gibbs could read body language better than most and knew his agent was in trouble. Several agonisingly long moments dragged by before the doctor left Tony's bedside to speak with them.

"Tony's condition was listed as critical but stable," the doctor explained. "His fever was very high due to sepsis so we intubated him and set the vent to take occasional breaths for him."

"To preserve Anthony's strength and allow him to fight the infection," Ducky said nodding in understanding.

"Exactly," Lawson said.

"What changed?" Gibbs asked.

"A short time ago, his fever spiked to an extremely dangerous level and he stopped triggering the vent," Doctor Lawson continued.

"He stopped _breathing_?" Gibbs rasped.

"Yes, the vent is doing all the work now. We've cranked it up to keep him alive and we're doing everything we can to bring his fever down but…"

"What Doctor Lawson is trying to say, Jethro, is that if Anthony's fever does not break soon, his major organs will begin to shut down."

"I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs…but you should prepare for the fact that unless things improve drastically, Tony may not make it through the night."

Hearing the words forced the air from his lungs and an involuntary gasp escaped his lips. The normally inscrutable expression faltered slightly until, with a small shake of his head, Gibbs' haunted eyes shuttered against the possibility of his agent's death.

He watched as the nurses stripped Tony's bed with crisp and concise movements and placed cooling pads on the man's stomach and chest, behind his back and neck and beneath his armpits. They folded back the blanket to the foot of the bed, leaving just the sheet covering him before completing the medical chart and leaving the room.

Gibbs looked at his agent; long, dark eyelashes rested against cheeks flushed with fever; his chest rising and falling in synchronicity with the steady whooshing sound of the ventilator. A dark tide welled up inside him as self-recrimination warred with overwhelming guilt for possession of his soul. He moved to the opposite side of the bed; straightening a section of IV tubing that wasn't tangled and looking up as Ducky re-entered the room and made his way silently to stand at Gibbs' shoulder.

"Shouldn't have left him," Gibbs whispered.

Ducky hesitated slightly; unsure of whether his friend was referring to leaving Tony at the abandoned lot or, more recently, at the hospital.

"We weren't to know this would happen. The condition of critical patients can deteriorate very quickly," he replied. "According to Doctor Lawson, Anthony's condition worsened quite soon after we left the ward. In hindsight, one might speculate that Anthony sensed he was alone and-"

"Don't go there, Duck!" Gibbs interrupted, grinding the heels of his hands into his burning eyes. He pulled a shaky lungful of air and released it slow stream. "You said yourself...Tony was unaware and unresponsive. Now you're telling me this happened because he knew we left the room?"

"I am merely saying we should be open to that possibility. Listen to me, Jethro," Ducky pleaded. "The sound of familiar voices could provide the stimulus needed to bring Anthony back to us."

"_I tried that already, remember?_" Gibbs growled pointing to the ventilator. _"It didn't work_!"

"Jethro, please…"

"I did this…_my_ actions put him here. Now you want me to sit by his bedside and…what? _Bare my soul?"_

"Would you rather sit by his bedside wallowing in guilt?" Ducky asked crossly.

An abrupt shushing sound from the nurse in the doorway halted the conversation. Suitably chastised, they watched as she checked Tony's vitals and made more notations on his chart before disappearing again. Gibbs studied the younger man's face; the bristle of a newly grown shadow stark against his flushed skin. Damn it, he was not going to lose Tony, not now, not like this. Ducky was right - the thought of losing DiNozzo had irrevocably driven home the need to speak what was on his mind and in his heart...but that was something neither he or Tony was truly comfortable with.

He let out a sibilant breath.

"Not good with words, Duck. I…I don't know what to tell him."

"I have frequently found that the words we find hardest to say are those which are most worth vocalising."

"Think it'll work?"

"Perhaps; perhaps not," Ducky replied gently. "But this is Anthony. Could you live with yourself if you didn't keep trying?"

With a supportive squeeze to the lead agent's shoulder, Ducky left the room without waiting for a reply.

Edging closer to the bed, Gibbs tentatively rested his hand on the crown of his agent's head, grimacing at the heat of the younger man's fever. He drew a deep breath and spoke quietly.

"Don't do this, Tony…not…not like this."

There was a rare timbre to the voice that he barely recognised as his own but he cleared his throat and recovered his countenance.

"Need ya to fight this, DiNozzo. Got some things to work through…things I need to say…things you need to hear."

He leaned closer so that his mouth was beside Tony's ear.

"Fight." Was all he said - an order and a plea in one desperate word.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

A/N:- Many thanks for reading – hope you'll stay with us for the final chapter. L


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: - **Apologies for the public airing of a private matter but I've no other way of contacting this person. Please feel free to skip to the actual story, L

Most poker players have a "tell" - a twitch, a subtle behaviour that gives away their hand. It took me a while to be certain of yours but I know who you are now and it's time to ante up.

I remember our initial contact and I remember your request for me to co-write your TIVA story. As far as I am aware, my only "indiscretion" was to politely decline. I regret that you were offended by my decision and that my subsequent decisions to help a few other writers seems to have compounded your anger toward me. I am neither a TIVA writer nor a Beta writer but I have the freedom to assist or not to assist whomever I choose.

Your vague and, often, nasty little anonymous comments, (which appear after every new chapter I post) have been mildly irritating. But your comments have also been appearing whenever I happen to review someone else's stories. That's not fair to them. It's time to stop - this is not just between us anymore; you have involved others unnecessarily. I tried to contact you directly to sort this out but it seems YOU have blocked ME - how delightfully ironic!

You get one chance – if you post another anonymous message targeting me or another writer, I will announce your actual User ID in my next A/N and on my profile. If you think I'm bluffing - try me. If you have an issue, be a grown up, step out from behind your anonymity and contact me by PM. Laine

**Loyal**

**Chapter 7**

Fighting his own demons, Gibbs sat by his agent's bedside, observing the rise and falls of the younger man's chest and listening to the hiss of the ventilator as it provided critical life-support. Tony was still heavily sedated and unresponsive to pain or vocal stimuli. His skin was hot and dry and, despite medication and cooling pads, his fever had continued to rise in small but dangerous increments.

The former Gunny's own head pounded unmercifully. The after-taste of too much Jack Daniels and too little food burned the back of his throat and caused his stomach to roil in protest. He dragged his long fingers across his tired eyes as he recalled Ducky's words…

_"The sound of familiar voices could provide the stimulus needed to bring Anthony back to us."_

Gibbs was an investigator, a man whose whole life revolved around the gathering of irrefutable evidence. Not for a minute did he believe that anything he said to Tony would make a difference at this time. But, with his agent's life hanging in the balance, he was not about to take the chance.

He sighed in resignation. Putting his feelings into words was never something he was comfortable with. But whatever way you looked at it, Tony was fighting for his life because of him. Keeping a loose grip on the younger man's wrist, Gibbs glanced around the room to ensure they were alone as he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Broke my own damn rule. Never be unreachable," he said. "I'm here now. Not going anywhere."

He thought back to their confrontation at the abandoned lot and the last words he'd said to his agent.

"_You keep following me, I'll shoot your tires out."_

Although sickened by the harshness of his words, his lips twitched as he suppressed a smile.

"Wouldn't have stopped ya," he said. "You woulda tracked me down like a damn St Bernard."

From the moment they'd met in Baltimore he'd felt an almost tangible connection to Tony and he'd tucked the younger man firmly under his wing. They were similar in so many ways and so totally disparate in others, yet their partnership worked. Theirs was a closeness born of shared experiences and shared pain. The respect and trust was earned through their 'skin-in-the-game' approach and the mutual unwavering support through the worst and the best of times. Gibbs couldn't remember the definitive moment when that damned protective pyre had been lit inside him but it burned as hot as a second sun whenever Tony was lost or hurt.

"Remember when you fell out of that damn plane?" he asked quietly.

The memory from so many years before came flooding back, bringing with it the overwhelming fear. Tony's chute had opened but strong crosswinds had blown him several miles from the landing zone. The Marines had used Tony's GPS device to track his location in the dark while Gibbs' imagination conjured graphic images of his agent's broken and lifeless body.

They'd found him sitting on an old tree stump, eating a power bar and waiting patiently for the ground team to arrive. Still bouncing from the rush of adrenalin, he met them with a shit-eating grin and a casual 'hey, Boss' that left Gibbs torn between wrapping him in a hug or ripping him a new one. Of course, the second option had prevailed. But, as Gibbs gave his young partner a harsh and thoroughly undeserved tongue-lashing, the grin was replaced by a knowing look that said 'it's okay, Boss, I understand.'

The line between their professional detachment and familial bond had blurred long ago and, although the younger man often gave the impression of an unreserved yes man, DiNozzo was the one member of his team with chops enough to take the former Marine to task whenever his second B overstepped reasonable bounds.

Two days ago, Tony had tried to do just that and Gibbs had shut him down instantly. Unable - no, unwilling to accept that the younger man's instincts were correct about his long-time friend, Alan Granger, Gibbs had shoved Tony away, figuratively and literally, and not even looked back when the younger man's distressed voice called out to him. Furious at his agent's accusations, Gibbs strode to his car and drove off into the night, refusing to answer Tony's desperate call to his cell and, unknowingly, leaving him critically injured. He shuddered under the weight of the guilt that tore at his heart. If he lived to be a hundred it was a pain he'd never be able to escape.

Gibbs closed his eyes against the too-vivid memory, knowing it was going to be a very long time before it failed to cause his breath to catch when it sprang into his mind. He pushed the memories aside, knowing that he'd have to deal with them later in the form of nightmares. Wishing for words he had never before needed with Tony, he took a breath and gathered his composure.

"Need you to wake up…tell me you're pissed at me," he said around the lump in his throat. "I got it coming."

The former Marine raked his hand through his hair, trying to formulate his words.

"In my gut, I knew you were right," he admitted shamefully. "I knew Alan was a person of interest - that he took a shot at you. I just…I didn't wanna believe it."

He placed his hand on the crown of Tony's head, cringing at the heat of his fever. Gibbs was a man of action who rarely spoke of his feelings but the graveness of the situation and Tony's deep sedation, gave him the courage to voice the strong emotion he generally kept tightly contained.

"I couldn't believe," he blew out an exasperated breath with considerable force and corrected himself. "Hell, I w_ouldn't_ believe…that the man who saved the life of my daughter…would try to take the life of my son."

He frowned as the ventilator stuttered before settling back into its steady rhythm. Barely a minute had passed when the vent stuttered multiple times and the strident alarm sounded. Gibbs shot to his feet; one hand grasped the emergency call button and pressed it repeatedly while he cupped Tony's cheek in his other hand. Gently, he turned the unconscious man's face in his direction.

"Tony?" he said, searching the flushed face for any signs of consciousness. "Come on, DiNozzo, open your eyes."

The door flew open and the doctor rushed in; Ducky following closely on his heels laden with coffee and sandwiches. Assessing the situation with one quick glance, the doctor zeroed in on the ventilator, silencing the alarm and checking the readouts.

"What's happening?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

Ignoring the agent for a moment, the doctor tested Tony's pupil reaction and checked his vitals.

"Doc?" Gibbs tried again.

"He's still deeply sedated but it looks like he's starting to trigger the vent," Doctor Lawson told them. "Before I dial it back, we need to do a quick test to make certain he's breathing on his own."

Ducky and Gibbs watched as the doctor pressed the button to stop the vent but left the monitor active. All eyes were on the monitor as they watched for any sign that Tony was moving air. Precious seconds passed and still there was no movement.

"Come on, Tony," Gibbs whispered as he willed his agent to take a breath.

As the doctor moved to restart the vent, the line on the monitor moved marginally…once, twice and then at steady intervals. With a satisfied nod of his head the doctor restarted the vent and made some adjustments to the settings.

"His breathing is still very shallow but he's definitely moving air. I'll start weaning him off the sedatives but he'll need to stay on the vent for now," he said.

"Bravo, Anthony," Ducky exclaimed, clapping his hand on Gibbs' shoulder and recognising the relief on his friend's face. "That's a very good sign, Jethro."

"It's a step in the right direction but he's still critical," Lawson reminded them.

"How long until his organs start to fail? Gibbs asked.

"Hard to say," Lawson replied. "We need this fever to break sooner rather than later. Tony's known around here as a man who beats the odds. Personally, I'm hoping he'll continue to do just that. In the meantime we've lowered the temperature in the room and the nurses will be back in a moment to replace the cooling pads and sponge him down. With a bit of luck, we can get his temperature under control."

"Thank you, Doctor," Ducky replied, placing his hand on Tony's shoulder. "We've become rather fond of this young man."

Lawson's eyes flicked fleetingly to Gibbs' worried face before returning to Ducky's.

"Yes, I can see that, " he said with a wry smile.

"What can we do?" Gibbs asked, never taking his eyes off his agent.

"Whatever you were doing when he triggered the vent," Lawson replied, reaching for his beeping pager. "I'll be back to check on him later."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Ducky approached the swinging doors into the ICU waiting room when he felt the unaccustomed weight of Gibbs' cell in his jacket. Removing it from his pocket, he opened it and noted Tony's name highlighted in the message folder.

"Oh my," he uttered, remembering the devastating affect it had on Gibbs when he listened to it earlier.

Taking a deep breath he replayed the message, feeling his chest tighten as he heard the pain and distress clearly evident in the young man's voice.

"_Boss, I'm hurt. Come back, please! I need help, Boss. Please!"_

He took a few shaky steps and pressed his back against the cool wall. Removing his glasses, he firmly pinched the bridge of his nose and took several deep stress-relieving breaths.

"Come now, Donald," he scolded. "Get a grip on yourself, man."

His attention was again drawn to Gibbs' cell. He knew it wasn't his place and Jethro would likely be furious with him later but there had been enough suffering. If Tony lived, the recorded message would matter little. However, if he died, the young man's desperate plea for help would likely become the catalyst in the lead agent's self-destruction. Ducky's thumb hovered above the delete button - no matter how he looked at it, no good would come from keeping the recording. He erased the message and slipped the cell back into his pocket.

Sighing in resignation, he slipped his glasses back into place, straightened his shoulders and pushed through the doors to face the questions, the tears and the worried faces of his young friends.

"Ducky?" Abby said, launching from her seat the moment she set eyes on him. She looked as pale and drawn as he felt. "How's Tony? Is Gibbs with him? Why won't anyone tell us anything?"

"Why don't we sit down and I'll tell you all I know, hmm?" he replied with false cheerfulness.

Placing a comforting arm around her shoulders, he steered her back towards the others; pleased to see that McGee had remembered to contact Jimmy Palmer as well.

"Doctor? Is Tony going to be okay?" Jimmy asked.

As he explained Tony's condition to his friends, Ducky mused that, under normal circumstances, he would attempt to provide a realistic view of the younger man's chances without offering false hope. But Tony's penchant for beating the longest of odds was well known and false hope was better than no hope at all.

"Can we see him?" Abby asked quietly, her usual ebullience smothered by her concern.

"Perhaps a little later, my dear," Ducky replied. "Once his fever breaks."

Ziva's eyes narrowed as she scrutinised the ME's face.

"You look tired, Ducky," Ziva told him, looking pointedly at Palmer for support. "Perhaps we will all feel better once we have eaten something, yes?"

Jimmy shook his head morosely.

"Actually, Ziva, I'm not sure I could eat _aah!_" Palmer jumped to his feet and rubbed the sizable welt on his arm where Ziva had pinched him. He stared back at her, totally clueless, until the penny dropped. "Of course...er...what I _meant_ to say was…I don't think I could eat _aah-lone! _What do you say, Doctor? Will you join us for supper?"

Ducky glanced back toward the doors of the ICU.

"You need a break, Ducky," McGee said. "You've been with Tony for days. I'll stay and call you if there's any change."

"I'm staying, too," Abby said, moving closer to McGee.

Ducky released a long weary breath.

"I must admit the a nice hot cup of Grey Earl tea would be just the ticket, right now," he said.

"Then a cup of tea you will have!" Ziva smiled, linking her arm through Ducky's and leading him and Palmer toward the elevators.

Abby and McGee watched them go before the forensic specialist turned glistening eyes to the agent.

"Tell me the truth, Timmy," Abby said, locking eyes with him "Do you really think Tony will be okay?"

"Come on, Abs, you know Tony. How many times have we written him off, only to see him come strutting back into the bullpen expecting balloons?"

Abby giggled quietly, nodding her pig-tailed head in agreement.

"Oh, hey," she said as she settled back against him. "Did you find out where Gibbs was? Why we couldn't find him?"

McGee's brow furrowed as he remembered his boss reeking of alcohol and looking like he'd slept in his clothes. He could sense that something had happened between Gibbs and Tony but he knew his boss well enough to keep his questions to himself.

"Doesn't matter," he said, giving Abby a quick squeeze. "All that matters is that he's here now. If anyone can get through to Tony, Gibbs can."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

It was deja vu all over again as Gibbs watched an attractive dark-eyed nurse check his agent's vital signs and make minor adjustments to the flow rates of the IV's. A small beep sounded and the nurse checked the reading of the ear thermometer before nervously averting her eyes. Gibbs didn't need to see the numbers to know that Tony's temperature had continued to rise, he could see it in the flush of fever colouring the younger man's cheeks and feel it as he touched his hot, dry skin.

She recorded her findings diligently on the chart as a second nurse arrived to help replace the cooling pads that had warmed from the excessive heat of Tony's body. As they worked with quiet efficiency, sponging the tepid water over his agent's face, neck and chest, Gibbs couldn't help thinking how much Tony would have enjoyed their attention had he been conscious. A muted alarm sounded from down the hall signalling a code blue alert.

"Go," Gibbs told them. "I got this."

Nodding their thanks they rushed from the room and left Gibbs alone with his agent. He reached for the cloth soaking in the basin and wrung out the excess water before passing it lightly over Tony's face and neck and cursing the heat still pouring off him.

"You beat the damn plague, DiNozzo. This should be a walk in the park."

Gibbs had a thousand thoughts all jockeying for attention at the same time. His friendship with Tony had always pushed at boundaries, demanded an honesty and openness he'd given to very few people in his life.

"We got some things to get straight, but you need to wake up," Gibbs' voice wavered slightly but recovered quickly. "Ducky thinks you can hear me...thinks a familiar voice will help you hold on."

He abruptly stopped speaking as the dark-eyed nurse walked back into the room and looked around for her misplaced stethoscope. Gibbs felt the heat of a rare blush at having been caught speaking to his unconscious agent. She gave him an understanding smile and he returned an embarrassed shrug as she left the room. Wringing out the washcloth, he huffed out a laugh at his awkwardness and ran his hand over his bristly, unshaven jaw.

"You're really gonna make me do this?" he asked, allowing a small smile. "If yabba's what it takes, yabba's what you'll get. You tell anyone about this and I'll kick your ass."

Despite being way out of his comfort zone, Gibbs settled in for the duration. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath to ready himself. It felt unnatural and awkward for the former Gunny to give voice to his thoughts. At first, his words were stilted and tense but as he got caught up in the memories, he began to relax and the words flowed with ease. His mind drifted back to Baltimore. – the tube socks, the flying tackle that brought him down and the solid right cross to the jaw of a certain young detective that got him arrested but secured his cover. As fate would have it, it also secured his new partner – the best young investigator he'd ever met.

From Baltimore, he moved on to the first cases they'd been assigned as partners - before Blackadder, before Kate and before McGee. The days when they only had each other to watch their backs and when gut instincts and good old-fashioned legwork was the best way to see justice done. It was in these early days that these two men had formed a mutual bond forged by shared conflicts and strengthened by adversity.

Several hours passed and, still, Gibbs kept talking; his voice was becoming hoarse and his throat raw. The earlier embarrassment and awkwardness had faded and he was now heedless of the comings and goings of the nurses. He scrutinised the younger man's face, willing any sign that Tony was regaining consciousness.

"Make you a deal...you wake up and I'll skip the part where you kissed the transvestite," he said, passing the cool cloth over Tony's face. "You got that, DiNozzo? You listening?"

As time ticked relentlessly on, the lead agent's exhaustion and hours of endless worry caught up with him and he battled to keep he sleep-deprived eyes open. Eventually, they closed of their of volition and he surrendered to his body's demand for rest and an end to this nightmare. It seemed like barely a minute had passed before Ducky gently shook him awake.

"Jethro?"

He was on his feet before he was fully awake, blinking heavily to focus his red-rimmed eyes. His heart rapped a frantic rhythm against his sternum as he noticed the medical staff surrounding Tony's bed. The younger man was bathed in sweat, the sheets molding themselves to his sweaty body, transforming the hospital gown into a sodden second skin. His respiration and pulse increased dramatically while his eyes moved rapidly beneath the lids.

"Duck?" Gibbs said in alarm.

"It's good news, Jethro," Ducky replied. "Anthony's fever broke a few moments ago and his core body temperature is coming down."

Gibbs ran his hands over his beard roughened jaw and sighed in heavy relief as the fear that had squeezed his chest started to relax its grip.

Tony moaned low in his throat, the lids covering his sunken eyes flicked with movement. He moaned again, his head moving from side to side as he wrestled his way to consciousness

"Tony? Tony, can you open your eyes?" Doctor Lawson said calmly. "Tony, you're in the hospital."

Numbers jumped on the displays as Tony's heart began to race. Long eyelashes twitched and slowly rose. His throat was sore and he tried to swallow but something was choking him. Panic filled his eyes and he made a frantic grab at the ventilator. Stronger hands caught his before he could disconnect the tube and they held his arms down by his sides.

"Easy," Gibbs comforted, placing a gentle hand on Tony's chest to keep him from struggling.

Dazed and confused his eyes filled with hurt and resentment as he fleetingly met Gibbs' concerned gaze. After only a minute, thoroughly exhausted by his struggle, Tony drifted back to sleep, his remaining energy washed away on a tide of exhaustion and pain.

"It would appear that our young man wasn't quite ready to join us after all," Ducky chuckled.

"How is he?" Gibbs asked Doctor Lawson.

The doctor replied with a guarded smile.

"He's still a very sick man," he said. "But from what I've seen, my money's on Tony making a full recovery."

"That's a sucker's bet, Doc," Gibbs grinned

The fear that had shrouded Tony's bed seemed to lift slightly but Gibbs knew there was a storm coming. It was a storm of his own making and if he was ever going to salvage his friendship with Tony, he knew he had to face head on.

**0—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-o00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N: **– Many thanks for taking the time to read our story and for your kind support. We hope you enjoyed the chapter. :) L


	8. Chapter 8

Gibbs rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the grate of stubble beneath his fingers. His eyes flicked to the window, noting the timid streams of daylight adding colour to the dark sky as dawn approached. He sighed heavily and looked back at this agent – the dark crescent-shaped smudges under both eyes were stark against pale skin and his brow furrowed with pain even in sleep. Tony's hair was plastered to his forehead as his body temperature continued to fluctuate wildly. He repeatedly pushed away the thin blanket they'd placed over him, only to be cold and shivering moments later as he battled the serious infection raging through his bloodstream.

The raspy sound of each shallow breath was music to the former Gunny's ears and preferable to the mechanical hiss of the ventilator that had been removed several hours ago. From the vent, Tony had graduated to an oxygen mask and, finally, a nasal cannula as his breathing grew steadily stronger.

Caught in the twilight between unconsciousness and wakefulness, Tony was becoming agitated – squirming beneath a sheet that was damp with his sweat. Gibbs took the face cloth from the nearby basin and gently swiped it over the younger man's face and neck, urging him to wake up from their mutual nightmare.

"How's our patient?" Ducky's hushed voice sounded from the doorway. "Still giving us the silent treatment?"

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder and nodded; exhaustion etched into his every feature.

Stepping into the room, the ME handed Gibbs a cup of coffee and swiped the chart from the end of Tony's bed. He nodded his head agreeably as he read the notations.

"He's doing much better, Jethro," he said. "But there is a tremendous amount of healing that still needs to be done."

Gibbs met the older man's gaze and the inference was not lost on him. Though they'd been assured that Tony's physical injuries would heal in time, the former Marine was more concerned with the enormous fissure that had opened up between them and he fervently hoped it was not too late to repair it.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00**

Tony floated in the dreamless depths of a drug-induced sleep. In a rush, fragmented images breached the confines of his mind and the accident replayed in vivid detail against the backs of his eyelids.

_He remembered the heated argument and the powerful shove to his chest that sent him stumbling backward. He'd lost his balance and sprawled on the ground; a searing pain shooting through him as a metal shiv penetrated his back. He called for help and watched in horror and disbelief as the taillights of Gibbs' car disappeared into the night. His panic increased when his call to the former Marine's cell went unanswered. _

_Regardless of the current tension between them, he had no doubt this was an accident. Gibbs would never physically hurt him or leave him alone and injured. Despite the unbearable pain, he fought the urge to pass out until he had formulated a plan - one that would explain his injury and, hopefully, take any onus or blame away from his boss. He called the emergency dispatcher and gave his position and a fabricated account of events, then, satisfied that there would be no inquiry or investigation he gave in to his body's need to shut down._

_He didn't remember Gibbs coming back to the abandoned barn lot but he did recall the older man's voice - reaching out to him in the darkness like a beacon of light. Gibbs had been by his side, just like always, watching Tony's six._

He felt the soothing comfort of a cool cloth wiping his face and neck as a callused hand gently cupped his cheek as if gauging his temperature. A wave of emotion washed over him, giving voice to an inarticulate moan as consciousness beckoned. He could hear his name being called and frowned at the voices trying to lure him from the comfortable, warm, darkness. His eyes flickered open, allowing a brief moment of lucidity but his back exploded in pain as he shifted slightly in the bed. Gasping, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed as Gibbs pressed the button to administer a dose of morphine from the pump nearby.

"Easy, Tony," Gibbs told him. "Just breathe."

It took a long moment before the world came back into focus and he saw his boss standing over him. As the morphine kicked in, the agony faded to a mere, burning pain and the younger man could barely keep his eyes open. A tiny smile formed on his lips.

"Knew you'd come back," Tony whispered. His eyes were growing heavy, but he fought to keep them open. "Thanks, Boss."

The words caused Gibbs' heart to skip a beat.

"Tony…listen to me," he started. "Tony?"

He cursed silently as his agent's eyelids fluttered closed and the drugs sent him back into unawareness.

"DiNozzo?" he said with a gentle nudge to Tony's shoulder.

"Leave him be, Jethro?" Ducky said softly.

The former Marine dragged his fingers through his hair as guilt wrapped its powerful talons around his conscience and squeezed painfully.

"He thinks I came back for him."

"It's a logical assumption given your history together," Ducky nodded.

"That's not what happened."

"There'll be plenty of time to explain when he's stronger," the ME replied. "But for now, you both need your rest. You haven't left this room in far too long."

"I'm fine."

"Anthony should sleep for several more hours," Ducky persisted. "Go home, Jethro. Take a shower, sleep, work on your boat if you must, but get some rest."

Gibbs looked from the ME to his agent and back before nodding grudgingly.

"Stay with him, Duck," he said, giving Tony's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I won't leave his side," the ME replied.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00o-0**

Several hours later, Gibbs walked purposefully from the elevator to the ICU ward, spotting Ducky pacing anxiously back and forth in the corridor outside Tony's room.

"Duck?"

Upon hearing his name the ME turned and checked his watch as Gibbs approached. Still sporting the product of several days' growth on his chin, the former Marine had at least changed his clothes but Ducky could see no evidence of rest in his friend's eyes.

"For pity's sake, Jethro, a change of attire and a cup of coffee is no substitute for proper rest and relaxation," he scolded, nodding his head at the faint bruising beginning to form on Gibbs' knuckles. "And how many times have I told you that when you work the bag, you must wear the gloves."

Not surprised in the least by the older man's keen eye, Gibbs glanced at his knuckles and shrugged a shoulder; unapologetic for the impromptu workout that had relieved some of the tension he'd been feeling. He hoicked a thumb toward Tony's room.

"How's he doing?"

Ducky forced a smile.

"I am very pleased to report that, physically, Anthony is no worse than when you left several hours ago."

Sensing trouble, Gibbs eyed the closed door warily.

"Something you're not telling me, Duck?" he asked.

"He's still very ill, of course. His fever comes and goes as his body fights the sepsis but he managed some clear fluids and was in quite a positive frame of mind considering his circumstances."

_"Was?_" Gibbs said impatiently.

"Ah...yes...well, you see, Timothy, Ziva and Abigail arrived and sat with him for a short time."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked tersely, tiring of the long explanation.

"Ziva and Timothy engaged in some playful banter about Anthony's run of bad luck with rats," Ducky explained. "Meaning, of course, Anthony's bout of pneumonic plague, the rats on board the USNS Chimera and Anthony's story about the rat that caused him to stumble and resulted in his hospitalisation."

"They questioning his story?" Gibbs frowned.

"Oh no, the lad is quite the thespian. Had I not known otherwise I, too, would have been quite taken in by his storytelling prowess."

"Not seeing a problem here, Duck."

"It's Abigail."

"Abby's the problem?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, well, no…not _exactly."_

Exceeding his exasperation limit, Gibbs sidestepped the older man only to have the ME quickly step back to block Gibbs from entering the room.

"Damn it, Ducky, will you just tell me what happened?"

With a put upon sigh, Ducky explained.

"In her usual exuberance, Abigail, wrapped Anthony in a hug and told him how worried she'd been about him, especially when…"

"When they couldn't contact me," Gibbs surmised.

"I'm afraid so," Ducky replied. "As you know, Anthony was under the impression that you had returned to the abandoned lot. He thought you had been with him for the entire duration of his hospital stay and now…"

"Now he thinks I left him and went to Alan," Gibbs said, cursing under his breath. "Dammit! This is exactly why I should have told him earlier."

"I'm sorry, Jethro, I did try to talk to him but he said he was tired and asked us all to leave."

"Not your fault, Duck," Gibbs said. He placed his hand on the door handle and took a bracing breath. "I got this."

Walking quietly into the semi-darkened room, Gibbs took a seat in the chair by the bed. Since the early years of their working relationship, when they worked as a two-man team, Gibbs had become familiar with the younger man's breathing patterns. There were times when, after a completely draining case, they were too tired to go home and fell asleep at their desks; sometimes they took turns to sleep while on long and exhaustive stake-outs; but on far too many occasions he'd listened to Tony's breathing from an identical chair placed beside an identical hospital bed. Now, as he listened to Tony's breathing, he knew it was too light for sleep.

"Tony," he said quietly.

The younger man turned his head in his boss' direction. His cheeks were flushed with fever and his green eyes bore into the former Marine with enough intensity to make his gut clench.

"Just go," Tony replied.

"DiNozzo…talk to me."

Tony huffed a humourless laugh.

"This coming from the man who makes Marcel Marceau look like a blabbering fool," he answered acerbically. "I've been trying to get you to talk for over a week and now you expect _me_ to talk to _you._"

He shrugged off Gibbs' assistance and painfully struggled into a semi-reclined position. His voice was hoarse and raw and his eye-lock faltered briefly as he shot a look of undisguised anger in the lead agent's direction.

"Were you ever gonna tell me?" he asked in a half-whisper. "I thought you came back for me; that you finally got it through your thick head that I was trying to help you. Turns out no one even knew where you were."

"I never said-"

"Where were you, Gibbs?" Tony interrupted. "Were you with Granger?"

The lead agent felt his stomach roil. He knew these questions were warranted and he knew his agent deserved the unadorned truth. Hating the reticence that stilled his tongue, he scrambled for something, _anything_ to say.

"When I left you, I was going to meet Alan but I-" his frustration mounted as Tony interrupted again.

"You left me bleeding in the dirt while you went to meet Granger?" Tony said with a flash of unguarded betrayal in his eyes.

"I didn't know you'd been hurt," Gibbs stressed.

"I called out to you…I called your cell…then I watched you drive away," he said frostily. "Wanna know how that felt, Boss? Watching your taillights disappear? Trying to think of a way to explain how I ended up like a human shish kebab?"

"I never asked you to lie for me!" Gibbs replied, irritated at his inability to express himself.

Tony flashed a grin as he stared at his boss with eyes that were frighteningly hard.

"You think I was covering for you?" he asked coldly. "Don't flatter yourself, Gibbs!"

Gibbs shook his head slightly to indicate his lack of understanding and Tony continued, ignoring the pain burning in his back.

"You think I want people to know that after twelve years of watching your six, you didn't trust me enough to even _look_ at the evidence I had? That you thought I was…what was it again? Oh that's right, a spoiled brat seeking attention from his Dad_."_

Tony pressed the heel of one hand against the throbbing in his temple and tried to collect the scattered fragments of his composure. Pressing his shoulders into the pillows to find a more comfortable position, he gasped as the movement pulled at his incision. A cruel muscle spasm in his back left him struggling for breath as his lungs heaved with the strain of his emotions. Gibbs fumbled for the nearby oxygen mask, feeling the heat of Tony's fever as he positioned the breathing device on his agent's face and pressed the call button.

"Take it easy," the lead agent said, noticing the quickening pace of the young man's heart monitor. "We'll talk later."

"No," Tony said and calmly pushed the mask aside.

Gibbs recognized the tone of that one word and understood exactly what it signified. Quiet and contained it might easily be underestimated - just like a certain senior field agent - but the former Marine knew that the nearly emotionless voice meant his agent had taken all he was going to take.

"You think I wanted to tell you about Granger?" Tony asked, pinning the man with a pointed stare. "That it gave me some kind of vindictive pleasure? Tell me, Gibbs, when did I ever not have your back?"

The question hung heavily in the air until a worried nurse appeared at the door, eyeing Gibbs accusingly as she passed him to stand at Tony's bedside.

"Is everything alright in here?" she asked, directing the question to her patient.

Tony nodded and gave her a shaky thumb's up. His false energy was draining fast, sending tremors through his exhausted body. He mopped his sweaty face with his forearm, ignoring the throbbing in his back and the heat of his fever as it rose again. Not convinced by the poor show of bravado, the nurse looked at the bedside monitors, took his pulse and blood pressure before frowning and looking back to Gibbs.

"I don't know what's been going on in here but his vitals are all over the place," she said, injecting a sedative into Tony's IV. "I'm sorry but you'll have to leave."

"Not yet," Tony rasped. "Give us a minute."

The nurse hovered protectively over her patient for a moment more before nodding abruptly and leaving the room. Gibbs desperately wanted to clear the air, but one look at his agent told him the discussion about Granger would have to wait until Tony was stronger. However, the burden of guilt regarding the younger man's injury was enormous and he needed to make that right.

"I _never_ meant for you to get hurt," Gibbs said looking around to take in the medical equipment still monitoring his agent's vitals and dispensing medication. "I'll go to Vance; tell him what happened."

"You're really gonna shrug me off again and do things your way?" Tony asked, blinking heavily as the sedative started to take effect. "You go to Vance and there'll be an inquiry. You want this in your jacket? In mine? They've accepted my story…leave it alone."

"Tony, listen to me..."

"No, you listen!" Tony's harsh objection stunned his boss into stillness. "If you think falling on your sword will make things right, guess again cos I'm done sticking my neck out for someone who clearly doesn't want my help. You go to Vance and you'll have my resignation by the end of the day."

"You don't want that," Gibbs said firmly.

"No, I don't, but I'll do it…and you know I will."

Tony pulled back on his emotions with a painfully visible effort as exhaustion overwhelmed him and his eyes slowly drifted shut. Gibbs sighed heavily, almost relieved for the respite as the younger man's tortured expression relaxed into a healing sleep. He sensed rather than saw the presence of the man behind him and allowed himself to be led into the nearby waiting room.

"How do I fix this, Duck," Gibbs asked.

"That young man is in a world of pain, Jethro," Ducky said softly. "He feels like you turned your back on him…the cornerstone of his world has been snatched from under him."

Gibbs walked a few steps to the nearby couch and dropped heavily into it, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looked back at the ME and met his concerned gaze.

"If I'd known Tony was hurt, I'd never would have left him."

"Of course you wouldn't. No one is doubting that – not even Anthony."

"You sure, Duck? Seemed pretty pissed to me."

"He is hurt and confused but it is not his faith in you that he's questioning – it's _your_ faith in _him_."

"I didn't go to see Alan when I left him, Duck, I took Tony's evidence to Fornell," Gibbs replied morosely, carding his fingers through his short silver hair. "The FBI is holding Alan on suspicion of murder."

Ducky took a seat beside his friend and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Jethro, I know that would have been a very difficult thing to do. Tell me, does Anthony know?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"Wouldn't let me explain."

"Then, as soon as that boy wakes up, you need to tell him," Ducky told him. "It's not too late to fix this. Anthony will be enormously relieved that you now believe him about Granger's dubious past and the fact that Granger tried to kill him."

Gibbs averted his eyes quickly but not before Ducky saw the doubt reflected in them.

"Oh my…you still don't believe Granger tried to kill Anthony."

"There's no proof Alan shot Tony," Gibbs said desperately grasping at the last thread of hope.

"Your loyalty to Granger is highly commendable, Jethro," Ducky told him sternly. "But Anthony has been by your side for twelve years. You need to be certain that you have placed your trust in the right man and for the right reasons or you run the risk of losing them both."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N Many thanks for the very kind reviews and alerts. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will join us for the next. L**


	9. Chapter 9

**LOYAL**

**Chapter 9**

Gibbs shifted the gears in his truck and accelerated out of a tight curve as he headed from Bethesda to the Hoover Building. He scrubbed his face with one hand and flexed the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders; stress and lack of sleep making their presence felt. The temptation to go home to his basement and lose himself in another bottle of bourbon was enormous but he'd spent too long avoiding the truth. Although his body's desire for sleep was great, his need for answers was more pressing.

He thought back a few days to his meeting with Fornell at the FBI agent's home. A myriad of emotions, from gut-wrenching guilt to white-hot fury, had washed over him as they read through the evidence DiNozzo had gathered and transferred to CD. There had been enough circumstantial evidence for the FBI to bring Granger in for questioning – but it was still circumstantial. This had to be a misunderstanding.

Ducky's words echoed through his mind – _"You need to be certain that you have placed your trust in the right man and for the right reasons or you run the risk of losing them both."_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"Doctor Mallard speaking," Ducky said, stepping outside Tony's room to answer his cell.

"Ducky?" Abby's replied tentatively.

"Abigail? Is that you?"

"It's me, Ducky," she said quietly. "How's Tony?"

"He's sleeping comfortably for the moment," the ME replied with a quick glance at the man in the bed. "Do try not to worry, my dear."

"I'm trying, Ducky, but it's, like, the worst feeling ever!" she said. "I didn't know that Tony didn't know that Gibbs didn't know when Tony was first brought to the hospital, you know?"

"I know," Ducky empathized. "Abigail, you really must calm down. Nobody blames you. You had no way of knowing what had transpired between Anthony and Jethro."

"But every time I close my eyes, all I can see is the look on Tony's face. He looked like he just lost his best friend. But Gibbs would _never_ choose Granger over Tony, nuh-uh, no sir-ee Bob, never in a million years, no way Jose!"

The silence on the phone line hung heavily between them.

"Oh my God, Ducky! How could he? Tony's Tony and Granger's…well, Granger! We totally have to fix this!"

"I'm afraid the only people who can resolve this situation are Anthony and Jethro," Ducky said, pursing his lips and tapping a finger against them. "However, perhaps I can give them a nudge in the right direction."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

A shadow darkened Fornell's desk and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee caused the FBI agent to salivate as a steaming Styrofoam cup was placed in front of him.

"Appreciate you arranging this," Gibbs said flatly.

Removing the lid, Fornell took a sip of the scalding liquid and smacked his lips together in appreciation.

"For the record, it's against my better judgement," he replied. "How's DiNozzo?"

"He'll make it," the former Marine responded curtly.

Fornell eyed his friend worriedly.

"When was the last time you slept? You look like crap."

Ignoring the unwelcome appraisal, the former Marine was all business.

"What've you got?" he asked.

Fornell shifted uneasily in his chair and fingered the thick folder on his desk.

"You sure you want to hear this?" he asked.

"No," Gibbs replied. "Tell me anyway."

Opening the file, Fornell spread several photos and police reports across his desk.

"These are the crime scene photos of six unsolved murders that occurred during the last five years. They were all considered cold cases. They hadn't been flagged to the Bureau because, until we received DiNozzo's CD, nobody had any idea they were related," Tobias paused to take another mouthful of coffee, silently assessing his friend's reaction as he did so. "At first glance, there's nothing connecting the victims - the locations, the murder weapons, even the calibre and make of the ammunition was different for each shooting. It wasn't until DiNozzo started checking into Granger that we were able to use the information on the CD to start joining the dots. We're still checking the details but so far we have enough to charge Granger with suspicion of three of murders."

Gibbs cursed under his breath.

"Doesn't make sense. Alan served his country with distinction in the Gulf; risked his life saving others," he said, pushing the still painful memory of Kelly's near-death experience to the back of his mind. "A man doesn't go from decorated war hero to hit man."

"He may have been a war hero once but from what we've determined, Granger never really made the transition back to civilian life. He hasn't held down a job for longer than two years since he was medically discharged from the Corps. He was on the brink of bankruptcy five years ago and suddenly he's living the good life."

Gibbs shook his head in disbelief.

"Who paid for the hits?" he asked.

"The money came from different sources. It looks like Granger found his niche as a freelance assassin. I'm sorry, Jethro, I know Granger's a friend of yours."

Gibbs' expression remained impassive but Fornell knew that hearing the words was soul-destroying.

"He told you anything?"

"Nothing. I was hoping he might open up to you."

"You want a confession, you get it yourself," Gibbs growled. "That's not why I'm here."

Fornell leaned casually back in his chair.

"Mind telling me why you _are_ here?" he asked.

"Like you said, Alan Granger's a friend of mine."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but so is DiNozzo," Fornell replied, completely unaffected by Gibbs' molten glare.

"You got something on your mind, Tobias, just say it."

The FBI agent looked hesitantly at his friend of many years and decided candour was the best option.

Fornell shrugged one shoulder. "Just wondering why you're here with Granger when DiNozzo's in ICU."

The former Gunny shot Fornell a blistering look that conveyed exactly what he thought of his statement but, again, he chose to ignore the remark.

"You got anything that ties Granger to DiNozzo's shooting?"

"We're working on it," Fornell said, opening another smaller file and handing the photos to his friend. "These were taken by the team working the crime scene. As you know, DiNozzo's injury was a through and through to the left bicep. The bullet was found gouged into the sidewalk. We calculated the trajectory and are almost positive the shot came from the top of the fifteen story building across the road."

The FBI agent shook his head in awe.

"That's a hellova shot, wouldn't you agree?" he asked, studying Gibbs' inscrutable face. "Not many people could have made the shot. But there's something else…Agent Mendez is a similar height and build to DiNozzo so we used him to line up the trajectory. Had DiNozzo not had such an eye for the ladies - had he not turned at the last second - the bullet would have torn through his heart – one shot, one kill."

Years of loyalty, friendship and an insurmountable debt battled fiercely with the white-hot rage surging through Gibbs' veins as he struggled to suppress his feelings.

"You still have nothing to tie Granger to this."

"Come on, Jethro! We all know DiNozzo's pissed off a lot of people in his time - hell, I've thought about taking a shot or two at him myself," Fornell quipped, "but Granger has motive, he has the skill…and who better to name as his alibi than DiNozzo's own partner?"

Gibbs turned away, not wanting to show the raw emotion on his face. He attempted to take a calming breath but his anger exploded and he thumped his fist against the wall before turning back to face the FBI agent.

"I wanna see him," he said, his voice frosted with barely contained rage.

"Let us handle it, Jethro, you don't have to do this."

Gibbs stood a little straighter and met his friend's unfaltering gaze.

"Yeah, Tobias…I do."

They walked together to the other end of the Hoover Building and stepped inside an observation room. Gibbs' heart clenched as he caught sight of his old friend through the one-way glass. Manacled and wearing prison orange, Alan Granger looked old and tired – a far cry from the freelance assassin he was purported to be. Yet this was the man who had stood tall by his side under enemy fire; the man who had saved his daughter's life and had been with him in the dark days after he'd lost his family. Despite the damning evidence, with his last vestige of hope Gibbs prayed that this had all been an enormous misunderstanding. He started for the interrogation room but stopped at the door and turned back to Fornell.

"No audio."

"Gibbs-" Fornell started.

"Need your word, Tobias," he said flatly.

Fornell gave an exasperated huff before turning to the sound tech at the back of the room.

"Donaldson…go get some coffee."

Donaldson looked from one stony face to the other and thought better than to argue as he scurried from the room.

"You've got five minutes," Fornell said.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Granger's eyes darted toward the door and his shoulders slumped in a mixture of relief and shame as Gibbs entered the room and took a seat across the table.

"Jethro," Granger started hesitantly. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

His eyes flicked nervously toward the camera in the corner of the room, noting the indicator light was now dormant.

"Camera's off," Gibbs assured him. "You can speak freely."

Granger nodded slowly.

"It was never supposed to end like this," the man said. "I had a job lined up as a security consultant in Iraq. First real job I've had in over five years."

Gibbs swallowed convulsively.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

"And say what?" Granger asked incredulously. "That I couldn't get my shit together? I saw what losing your family did to you - but you built a new career and a new life. I didn't want you to see what a mess I'd made of mine."

"I could have helped. I _would've _helped."

"What would you have done?" Granger scoffed. "Mortgaged your house? Called in some favours to get me a job? Written me a damn character reference?"

"If that's what it took."

"I got by…"

"You killed people!" Gibbs snapped. "These weren't insurgents; they weren't the enemy, they were innocent people!"

"Being a Marine, a sniper, is the only thing I was ever good at."

"That's not being a Marine!" Gibbs felt his stomach roil and a burning at the back of his throat at the absence of denial but he forced himself to ask the question he should have asked days before. "Did you shoot my agent?"

Granger took a quick intake of breath.

"What did they tell you?"

"Need to hear it from you," Gibbs told him.

"Jethro…I-"

"_Did you shoot Tony?" _Gibbs slammed his hand, palm down, onto the surface of the table. "_Answer me!"_

Granger startled slightly before steeling his expression but Gibbs saw the guilt in the man's eyes. Launching to his feet, the lead agent turned toward the door.

"Wait, Jethro, please don't go! We've been through so much together – two tours of the Gulf. We were like brothers!" he pleaded desperately.

"The man I knew wouldn't have killed those people and he sure as hell wouldn't have shot my agent!" Gibbs ground out through firmly clenched teeth. "Tony's been watching my back for twelve years and you damn near killed him!"

For the first time, Granger had the sense to look ashamed.

"He was getting too close," he replied. "I just needed a few more days and I'd have been in Iraq. I'd have been in the clear."

Gibbs snatched at the door handle impatiently, sickened by the sight and sound of the man he once considered a friend.

"Jethro, please! Our friendship is all I have left!"

Wheeling around furiously, Gibbs crossed the floor and loomed menacingly over Granger's hunched form.

"Then you've got nothing."

As the lead agent turned and stalked from the room, the in-frangible strands of friendship and brotherhood that had once bound them were severed forever.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony opened his eyes to half-mast and peered into the darkened room trying to comprehend his surroundings. The dark sky beyond the small window told him he must have been asleep for a few hours. The linen on his bed was damp with sweat from the fever that seemed to re-visit periodically and the burning sensation in his back let him know that he was due for more pain medication.

He turned his head toward the soft snoring. Despite their previous confrontation, Tony was disappointed to see Ducky, not Gibbs, asleep in a chair in the corner of the room. The ME's head was canted at an odd angle and his glasses were comically askew.

Licking his dry lips, Tony reached for the cup of water on the nightstand. He gasped loudly as the movement caused his back to spasm and the plastic cup slipped from his fingers and bounced noisily across the floor.

"Anthony?"

"M'okay," Tony muttered.

Taking in the empty cup on the floor, Ducky tsked loudly.

"Honestly, Anthony, why didn't you ask for help?" he asked.

"You were sleeping."

"Yes, well, I was under the impression that you were sleeping, too," Ducky said.

Retrieving the cup, the ME half-filled it with water, holding it until Tony had quenched his thirst and eased his head back on the pillows. Noticing the trembling and the sheen of perspiration on the younger man's brow, Ducky reached for the damp face cloth and pressed the button on the morphine pump. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch – knowing the Tony's low threshold to pain meds he had just a few moments to talk with him before sleep took him or he boarded the crazy train to Looneyville.

"Anthony," Ducky ventured, wiping the sweat from Tony's face. "About Jethro…"

The agent's body stiffened slightly and his expression darkened.

"He send you here to talk to me?" Tony asked.

"Certainly not," the doctor replied indignantly. "But I have seen you and Jethro endure too much together to sit idly by and watch something like this end your friendship."

"All due respects, Ducky, you're talking to the wrong man – Gibbs made his choice; I just want to put it behind me and move on."

"Believe me, dear boy, I understand that you want to put this behind you but, if I've learned anything in my years, it's before you can put something of this magnitude behind you, it must first be dealt with. Unresolved issues have a way of finding their way back and you will never truly be rid of them. Anthony, you're angry and confused and you have every right to be but surely you know that Jethro would give his life for you without hesitation."

Tony didn't reply but the way he clenched his jaw and averted his eyes told Ducky all he needed to know.

"When you were falsely accused of murder, the evidence against you was rather overwhelming, was it not?" The ME patiently waited until Tony acknowledged the question with a concise nod. "Not for a single moment did Jethro doubt your character or believe you were capable of such heinous behaviour. He scrutinized the evidence and the facts looking for ways to invalidate it…to _prove_ your innocence."

"I gave him every chance to look at the evidence against Granger. He made it pretty freakin clear that he wanted nothing to do with the evidence or me. He didn't believe me."

"But don't you see, Anthony, Jethro's reluctance was not because he _didn't_ believe you…it was because he _did."_

The agent blinked several times trying to stave off the effects of the sedative.

"Wanna try that again cos I'm not really firing on all cylinders here."

"Jethro knows better than anyone what an exceptional investigator you are."

"Then why did he push me away?"

"Because he was afraid," Ducky said. "He was afraid that if you said you had proof, his old friend Alan Granger must have been guilty."

"He threatened to shoot out my tyres," Tony said, still not entirely convinced. "He was protecting Granger."

"No, my boy, he was protecting you! Jethro's heart may have been convinced that Granger did not attempt to kill you but his head was not about to take the chance."

Pulling a shaky lungful of air, Tony let it out in a slow, calming stream.

"So…you're saying he thought I was right but he sided with Granger anyway?"

"Alan Granger is a last link back to another time in Jethro's life – a time when his wife and daughter were still alive. The point I'm trying to make is that this was never about Jethro choosing you or choosing Alan Granger. During this entire unfortunate situation, Jethro had only one person on his mind."

Ducky watched the younger man's expression change as realisation struck.

"Kelly," Tony whispered, noting Ducky's surprised expression.

"Jethro told you?"

Tony shook his head and then winced as his headache stepped up a notch.

"I read the police report. I know Granger was hurt saving Kelly's life."

"He almost died," the ME said soberly. "And in doing so, he gave Jethro a priceless gift – five more years with his daughter. Jethro has never recovered from the loss of his wife and child; I expect he never will. He cares for you deeply, Anthony, but as his three ex-wives will attest, no one will ever come before the memory of his wife and child."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

In the basement of his home, Gibbs reached for his battered old tin cup from the overhead shelf and poured a generous shot of bourbon. He winced as the alcohol burned his throat and trailed its fire deep into his gut. Rubbing a hand over his bristly chin, he pressed the heels of his hands into over-strained eyes and released a sigh that came from his boot tops. How the hell had he let this happen?

He had thought Alan Granger a trusted friend, a hero and a man of honour. A combination of the close friendship they'd formed in the Gulf, precious memories of his family and an overwhelming debt of gratitude had blinded him to what Granger had become… and it had almost cost Tony his life.

His eyes darted to the small trunk situated at the far corner of his basement. He stared at it for a few moments before crossing the floor and heaving it onto the bench top. He flicked open the catches and lifted the lid, spotting the leather-clad family photo album. Images of Shannon rushed into his mind; meticulously choosing and positioning every photo with the loving detail only a mother could apply. He ghosted his fingers over each likeness of his wife and daughter; taking his time to study every detail and lingering in the happy memories they invoked. A shard of intense pain stabbed at his heart when the photos abruptly stopped less than halfway through the album. Like the lives of his precious wife and daughter, the album would be forever incomplete.

The magnitude of what Gibbs lost that day could never be fully measured. The acute sense of loss would always remain but, with the help of his extended team, the former Marine could now remember his family - not just with heartache, anger and regret but as they deserved to be remembered - with love and an occasional smile. For all their quirks and idiosyncrasies, his extended team had become his new family and he shared a unique bond with each of them.

Twelve years ago, Tony - with his mix of irreverence and intuitiveness - nonchalantly sauntered into Gibbs' fiercely protected personal space and put down roots for the first time in his adult life. The younger man would frequently bear the brunt of his temper and frustrations, only to arrive at his home later that night with a six-pack and pizza and wearing an ear-to-ear grin. But behind the easy-going demeanor and feigned insouciance, was an astute and intuitive man who had vigilantly watched Gibbs' back and had given him nothing less than steadfast support and unwavering loyalty.

Pouring another shot of bourbon, he tossed it down in one swallow and closed his eyes as an image of Tony's face, etched in resentment and betrayal, fleetingly appeared in his mind's eye. Since Gibbs had started in law-enforcement, his partnership with Tony was the most stable and long lasting he'd known...but it went deeper than that. Theirs was a friendship and partnership that grew on a level that no one else really understood and he hoped like hell that he hadn't destroyed it. As a general rule, Gibbs was not a man who gave or sought absolution but in this case, he knew he had to make an exception.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"Doctor Mallard?" a female voice called in a hushed voice. "Doctor Mallard?"

Ducky startled awake, looking blankly at the faces of two nurses leaning over him. After a moment, the fog lifted from his brain and he remembered where he was.

"Oh my," he said around a jaw-cracking yawn. "Anthony?"

"He's still sleeping," the blonde, Lieutenant Walker, replied quietly. "His temperature is up again but his vitals and his kidney output is fine. It's you we're concerned about. You haven't left this room in hours."

"We're taking a dinner break in thirty minutes," the brunette, Lieutenant Groban, advised. "Why don't you join us?"

Beguiled by the attention of the two attractive nurses, Ducky quickly finger-combed his hair, straightened his bow-tie and flashed his most devilishly charming smile.

"I am very flattered by your concern, dear ladies," he said, with a twinkle in his baby blues, "but I'm afraid I will have to decline your gracious dinner invitation. You see, I gave my word that I would not leave Anthony's side until Special Agent Gibbs returns. "

"Oh, that's a shame," Lieutenant Walker replied with genuine disappointment. "Perhaps another time."

Climbing to his feet, the ME ignored the protest of his stiffened muscles and watched the nurses leave the room. Sighing in resignation, he reached into the bowl on the nightstand, wrung the water from a facecloth and began wiping the sweat from Tony's face and neck.

"Did you hear that, young man?" he whispered to the sleeping agent. "It appears you are not the only one who can turn the heads of the fairer sex. You may be interested to know that in my youth, I had quite the reputation for being a lady's man. In fact, I recall a time when I was travelling through Papua New Guinea, I inadvertently became betrothed to the buxom daughter of a tribal chief. Of course, I later discovered that they were a tribe of head hunters and I was particularly fortunate to escape with my cranium intact."

Chuckling at the memory, the ME turned to see Gibbs standing in the doorway.

"Fever's back?" he asked, his eyes never leaving his agent.

"Just a mild one," Ducky assured him, pausing as the young man started to stir. "He's still fighting the infection and he's experiencing some pain in his back. All in all he's doing rather well."

The thick cloud of tension that had followed Gibbs into the room was almost palpable.

"However, your timing is perfect," Ducky continued, gathering his hat and coat. "Anthony should be waking shortly and I have dinner plans."

Gibbs nodded distractedly and the ME had almost reached the door when the former Marine's voice called quietly.

"Duck?" he said meeting the ME's gaze. "Thanks."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Gibbs watched as his agent shifted restlessly in the bed. The younger man's brow was drawn into a frown and he mumbled unintelligibly as he drifted toward consciousness. The lead agent dropped heavily into the chair by the window, his tired blue eyes growing dim with recall as flashes of the last tumultuous week rushed back unbidden. He had failed Tony badly and, if they were to move forward, he needed to repair whatever damage had been done.

Despite appearances to the contrary, DiNozzo was a complex man and a difficult person to get to know. There were many layers of false bravado; easy-going nonchalance and feigned apathy to break through before you reached the heart of the real man. Gibbs had spent years trying to breach the nearly impenetrable layers before, little by little; the younger man let him in. He suspected that very few people, not even his teammates, had ever made it past the façade.

Both men were emotionally reticent. Neither was comfortable talking about their feelings and seldom was there a need to express them aloud. Tony and Gibbs often communicated on a subtle non-verbal level where feelings were not spoken but were felt just the same. The lead agent's eyes drifted to the bed where a pair of fever bright eyes was looking back at him.

"You okay, Boss?" Tony croaked.

His voice was scarcely a whisper but hearing Tony's concern was an overwhelming relief.

"You're the one in the hospital, DiNozzo." For the briefest of moments a smile ghosted across his face, then he sobered. "We need to talk."

Tony nodded brusquely and eyed the older man watchfully as Gibbs half-filled a glass of water from the pitcher and handed it to him. Moving the chair closer to the bed, Gibbs took a seat. He huffed in a breath, rolled his neck, and stared up at the ceiling as if the words he needed would suddenly appear there.

"Don't know what to tell you, Tony…can't make sense of it myself. You think you're getting over something, think you're coping…and something triggers inside you. Something or someone takes you right back to the day it happened. Granger was that trigger. He risked his life to save my little girl – I owed him more than I could ever repay…I owed him everything."

The sentence was punctuated with pauses and deep breaths that reflected Gibbs' struggle to put voice to the words. Tony remained silent, his eyes fixed on some indiscriminate point as Gibbs continued.

"The night at the barn lot…I was going to see Granger but you changed my mind," he explained. "I took your CD to Fornell instead."

Although he hadn't seen it happen, when the former Marine closed his eyes, his mind conjured images of Tony falling backward and impaling on the sharp scrap metal protruding from the ground. He imagined the seriously wounded man calling for help as he lay bleeding and in agony; watching Gibbs' drive into the night, leaving him to die. The vision burned into his brain and was certain to wake him in a cold sweat for many nights to come.

"I would _never_ have left if I'd known you were hurt," he said, knowing that time would never assuage his feelings of guilt. "Tell me you know that."

A long moment passed before Tony turned to meet the former Marine's gaze. His throat closed and he swallowed hard to gain control.

"Yeah," he said, his voice a strained whisper. "I know that, Boss."

His gaze slid to the window before coming back to Gibbs.

"What about Granger?"

The question hung in the air as the next few seconds seemed to grow out of all proportion and stretch into infinity.

"Fornell's holding him on three counts of suspicion of murder," he said as a tiny ripple of pain flickered in his eyes and was quickly suppressed. "You were right; Granger shot you, too."

Tony lowered his head, feeling no satisfaction that his suspicions had proven correct.

"Didn't wanna be right," Tony said, wincing as the burning pain in his back increased.

"You kept your head in the game," Gibbs said with genuine pride. "We've been partners a long time. I know how you work, how you think...I know _you._ I shoulda trusted your instincts. I let you down...and I'm sorry_."_

"Sign of weakness, Boss?"

"Not between friends…not between us."

As blue eyes met green, the apology was given and received and, in typical DiNozzo fashion, forgiveness followed in the form of a nod and the exchange of wry grins. Almost immediately, Tony's grin faded and an uncomfortable emotion shifted across his face.

"While we're trashing rule number six, Boss," he started sheepishly.

"You apologize for doing your job, DiNozzo, and I'll kick your ass."

"Not gonna apologize for doing my job, Boss, or for getting in your face about Granger," Tony told him. "But I backed you into a corner when I told you I'd take the evidence to Fornell."

Gibbs raked both hands through his hair and released a long steadying breath.

"Backed myself into a corner when I wouldn't look at the damn CD. You were right to get in my face about it. Told you before, I depend on your yabba...now you know why," he shrugged. "Ya think I keep you around for your smile?"

"That's the rumour," Tony replied. flashing his mega-watt grin right on cue.

"A rumour you started, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, enjoying the familiar banter.

"Well, technically, it was started by that smoking hot chick in the recruitment office. I just kept it circulating."

His eyes widened and he gasped as an agonizing spasm sent pain shooting through his back. Gibbs activated the morphine pump as the younger man gripped the edge of the mattress and tightly clenched his jaw to avoid moaning aloud. As the spasm relinquished its cruel grip, Tony breathed deeply through the residual pain. Several moments passed before he felt the pain meds kick in. Opening his eyes, the world rippled like the surface of a pond and he raised his head to see Gibbs' concerned face. Tony treated him to a small, travesty of a smile - one of those little quirks of the lips that looked more like a bad Elvis impersonation.

"I'm fine," he lied. "Well, fine-ish."

He opened his mouth again, as if to speak, but closed it abruptly.

"Something else on your mind?" Gibbs asked, noting Tony's enlarged pupils.

"Just thinking..." Tony said flatly. "I know you and Granger were tight."

"I got distracted…my kid nearly died."

"It was an accident," Tony nodded solemnly. "Kelly was fine, just a few scrapes."

Gibbs studied his agent for a long moment.

"Wasn't talking about Kelly," he said quietly.

The younger man remained silent as he realized the significance of the statement. After a moment, he looked back at his Boss, his eyes filled with words that would probably never be spoken but Gibbs heard them loud and clear.

"Get some sleep," Gibbs said, giving Tony's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere."

"If it's all the same to you, Boss, I'd rather stay awake." Tony said battling the effects of the morphine. "I've been having some real crazy-ass dreams. Just before you got here, I had a dream that Ducky was being chased through the jungle by a tribe of big-breasted head-hunters."

Gibbs forced his features into a mask of neutrality, allowing a small smile to hover on his lips as he settled back into his chair and watched his agent's futile battle to stay awake. Tony's eyes grew heavier until, eventually, they remained closed.

A small but critical defect in their relationship as partners had been identified and painfully exploited. But as Tony surrendered to the medication that moved him toward sleep, he did so knowing that the trust that underscored their friendship had been reforged and renewed…it was stronger, more honest and much less likely to fail them again.

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A smile of gratification formed on Ducky's lips as he pulled the door to Tony's room closed and leaned wearily against it.

"Well done, gentlemen, well done," he whispered.

Removing his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths, feeling the tension of the past few days lift from his shoulders.

"Doctor Mallard?" a soft female voice said. "Did you change your mind about lunch?"

For the second time in thirty minutes, Ducky's eyes opened to Lieutenants Groban and Walker.

"If your kind invitation still stands, ladies, I would be delighted to accept," he said.

Placing his hands on his hips he waited for the women to link their arms through his before setting off toward the elevator. Ducky took a final glance at the closed door to Tony's room.

"It appears my work here is done."

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A/N:- It has been my pleasure to complete this story. Once again, I thank Zee Viate for her trust, complete autonomy and, particularly, for the gift of her friendship. Thank you to all who reviewed or placed this story on alert. Although the horse changed jockeys mid-race, I hope it didn't break its stride as it raced to the finish line. L

A/N From Zee Viate**: **Once again, I'm very grateful to Laine for picking up where I left off and taking the story to a wonderful finish. Thanks, Laine, for being an excellent writer and even better friend!


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